Tarnished Silver
by Tresa Cho
Summary: History tends to repeat itself. What happens when Harry and Draco find themselves victims of the past? Part II of the Repitition series.
1. Prologue

"Harry! Harry! Run!" her voice pitched a scream, as her hands pushed frantically at his back, urging him to move, get himself out of range. He grasped her hand and whirled, looking for a way out amidst the shrieking light of wand-fire. There! A doorway! He leapt for it, nearly dragging her behind him. And then, "Harry! Look out!" He spun at her voice, instead of ducking or dodging. She slammed into him hard, almost knocking him over as he still pursued the sanctuary of the door.  
  
Ron's red hair jerked into view on the other side of the door, he beckoned them desperately, and Harry lunged into the doorway, dragging her limp form with him. Ron slammed the door shut and bolted it, not that locks would do any good once they discovered Harry was in the room. He looked around for a way out, and discovered a box hidden under the bed. He pulled it out, his red hair falling in his eyes as he opened the lid to discover a Portkey. The old owner of this building must have traveled frequently; the house was full of tricks and traps that led to the furthest corners of the world- which was exactly where the three wanted to be at this exact moment.  
  
"Harry," Ron motioned over. Harry inched forward, still grasping her hand. Ron grabbed Harry's free hand and murmured, "Hang on tight," as he took hold of the Portkey, a mitten.  
  
The all-too familiar jerk nearly cost Harry his lunch, as they slammed to the ground into something soft, wet, and very, very cold. Ron dusted snow from his hair, sputtering at the ice in his mouth, "Merlin's beard, why does this always happen to us!?" He turned to see Harry cradling her head, his black bowed over her brown, "Harry?"  
  
The redhead got no response, so he dumped himself on his knees beside the other boy, "Harry? What is it?"  
  
Harry shook his head, his shoulders quivering oddly. Ron leaned forward, when suddenly, Harry let out a shaking cry. Ron fell back, but quickly recovered himself and pried Harry's hands away from her body. She was pale, too pale to be alive, and her skin was like touching ice.  
  
She was dead.  
  
Ron dropped his hands in utter shock. She was gone... Ron shook his head in disbelief, falling back again, "No..."  
  
They could practically hear Voldemort's laugh resounding in the high mountains where they had landed. He had killed her.  
  
Harry lifted his head to the sky and screamed, screamed till his throat cried in agony, till Ron threw his arms around his best friend and sobbed like a child into his chest. Harry clutched at Ron, lowering his head to huddle against the other as they cried, each holding on to their best friend, their third link, their Hermione. 


	2. Chapter One

The lake was quiet, somber, even the octopus was dormant. Bright sunshine filtered through the occasional cloud, casting a warm glow over the grounds at Hogwarts. Harry walked silently beside Ron, as they rounded the far corner of the lake. It had been two months since the battle, but Harry hadn't quite recovered. He had withdrawn into himself, refusing to speak more than five words, even to his remaining best friend. This silence found Ron the brunt of questions concerning Harry's health, to which he had no answers. All he could do was stand by his friend, especially when Malfoy and his cronies decided to make life next to miserable.

Now, he also walked silently, reflecting on the past times when they had walked together, as the Three Musketeers, stopping for an occasional water fight or wrestling bout. Those were good times, the golden times that seemed like ages ago, the times when the only thing they had to worry about was a massive man-eating spider.

He sighed, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. They had left their robes at the school. Being seventh year under the terror of Voldemort had caused the school to be lax in their uniform regulations. Exhaling heavily, he shot a glance at Harry. Still the same blank stare, locked in the ever-shimmering water of the lake. He was fingering the diamond at his neck, decorated and laced through the finest gold by some of the best craft wizards in England. Ron owned an identical one, thought slightly smaller in size.

Suddenly, a piercing scream cracked the serenity of the day, echoing from the Forbidden Forest. Harry's head jerked up, to stare at the blackness, his hand frozen on the diamond at his throat. Ron glanced at the trees, hoping it was just the sound of some unfortunate animal in the clutches of a spider. No other sound came from the forest after a moment, and Ron turned back to Harry. The boy was still pale, but had returned his attention on the glitter of water in the lake.

Ron was about to sigh in relief when another shriek burst from the forest, and before he had realized it Harry was bolting to the line of trees. "Harry! Harry! Wait!" Ron was fast, but Harry was much faster. By the time Ron had broken into the forest, Harry was out of sight in the mix of trees. Ron stood still, wand out, waiting for any hint of movement. Another cry rang out, and Ron jumped towards it, knowing that Harry was there also.

He crashed through a clearing to see Harry kneeling over the motionless body of Draco Malfoy.

Under any other circumstances, Ron would have been thrilled. He would have muttered his customary, "Bloody brilliant, Harry!" and would have slapped his pal on the back. This time, however, the look on Harry's face left no want for merriment. The boy was pale, nearly paler than the white of Malfoy's hair. "Harry..." Ron stepped forward, hoping that maybe a light remark would lift the mood, "What did you do?"

"I-I didn't do anything!" Harry's eyes widened considerably, in what looked like panic.

Ron held up his hands, "Okay. What's wrong with Ferret boy?"

Harry swallowed hard, "H-He was like this when I got here." Ron frowned at the obvious lie, but did not say anything. That was when Ron noticed how badly Harry was shaking. The boy had his wand out, and his hands quaked like someone had cast a Jittery hex on him. "I'm taking him to the Infirm."

Ron frowned in mock distaste, "But Harry, there's man-eating beasts in here!" He instantly realized it had been the wrong thing to say at the moment, because Harry stood up rapidly and glared ferociously, enough to cower a three-headed dog.

"I'm taking him to the Infirm," he repeated, in a stone voice that shook Ron to his bones. The redhead stepped aside to allow Harry to levitate the unconscious Malfoy and get out of the forest at a jog. Something was wrong, and hell if he was going to leave it alone. When it involved Malfoy and Harry, he had to do something.

......

Madame Pomfrey had never spoken three specific words in quick, painful succession before. She was a nurse, one of the top in the industry otherwise she would not be employed to Hogwarts, one of the finest schools in the world. She would not be sponsored by Albus Dumbledore if she spoke those words often, and in her medical history she had refrained from saying them even once in terms of maladies and injuries. Now, however, she was looking at a peculiar case, with a most peculiar lack of information, and a peculiar case of bad blood. So, she bit her pride and allowed the words to slip through her lips like a poisonous potion, "I don't know."

The words seemed to devastate young Potter. He paled even more, if that was at all possible, to the point where Madame Pomfrey was about to urge him to sit. "What?"

The nurse bristled. Admitting she didn't know something was one thing, but repeating it was a completely different Quidditch pitch. "Mr. Potter, children come into this room every day with mere fainting spells such as this, if you are telling the complete truth in that you found him lying on the floor of the forest. Young Mr. Malfoy could be suffering from anything as simple as a cold to something as deadly as the Dark Arts. I'm sure that with your history with him, you feel it is the latter, but I cannot pass any judgment until you tell me every detail that you recall."

During her speech, Potter was looking slightly ill, and now he looked, by all definitions, shifty. She leaned close, her thin pointy nose precariously close to Potter's spectacles, "Well, Mr. Potter, is there something you're not telling me?"

He blanched further, and stepped back, bumping up against the bed where Malfoy lay. "H-He was screaming when I got to him, that's how I found him in the Forbidden Forest... He was still conscious... And he was grabbing his arm hard," Potter took a breath, "Hard enough to make it bleed."

Madame Pomfrey had always known the Malfoy boy was trouble, but this was different. She knew now what it was that afflicted the Malfoy boy, and she fought to keep herself from dropping pallor to match Potter's. "You may leave," she said stiffly, pushing Potter's shoulder towards the door.

"Wait, what is it? What's wrong with him?" the boy was nearly desperate with anxiety, his eyes flicking between the prone form on the bed and her face.

"Nothing you need to know. Now scurry."

"But, Madame Pomfrey-"

"Ten points from Gryffindor," she growled, "Get out."

Potter's jaw dropped and his eyes went wide behind his glasses, "That's utterly-"

"The Forbidden Forest is off limits to students, you know that. Out before I detract more," Madame Pomfrey snarled, a feat Potter had not thought she was capable of performing. It worked, as Potter turned and bolted from the room. He'd be back, he always came back- whether injured or no. When the large doors had shut, she turned to Malfoy and quickly jerked the sleeve of his left arm up. Sure enough, the black fringes of a tattoo had begun to appear. She shook her head and replaced the sleeve, tucking the arm under the covers in case the boy had visitors though it would be odd if he received any.

Slytherin had become rather reclusive after the rise of the Dark Lord. They had sneered as Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs flocked to Gryffindor's, and Harry's, side. Dumbledore let them alone, which nearly all teachers thought was a mistake- but he was Headmaster, who were they to argue? So the Slytherins sat, laughing and plotting in their dungeons about Merlin knew what. The only thing any of the teachers had gathered was that it wasn't good. The young ones were being affected by the war, and that was an abomination against the principles of the civilized world. The children, if anyone, should be spared the horrors of the Dark Arts, and yet here one lay, most likely a prisoner of his blood, unable to escape his destiny.

Madame Pomfrey sighed a weary sigh and rested a hand on Malfoy's forehead. She felt sorrow for this boy, no matter how horrid he may be towards his classmates.

......

When Harry wanted to think, he had to do so in a room with windows, sunshine, and plenty of animals. That's why Hagrid's was a great place to go. However, this late at night the only reasonable option was the Owlery. While the sun had retreated about an hour ago below the horizon, the moon showed brightly, enhanced by the magic of the grounds and the reflection on the lake.

Harry sat amongst the hay where the owls slept and ate, and tried to keep himself from jumping out the window in despair. What had happened today in the forest was something he had never expected, could not have predicted, and never wanted to relive.

When he had reached the clearing, Malfoy had still been conscious. Their eyes had locked, his gray orbs full of anguish under the silver of his bangs, and for a moment, they had not been Malfoy and Potter. They had been a boy in intense pain and someone to comfort him. Then, Malfoy bent over himself, clutching his arm, as another streak of pain raked his body. He had screamed, a sound Harry never wished to hear again, screamed loudly and painfully. The sound nearly took the breath from Harry's lungs, and it froze him to the spot. He couldn't move forward. He wanted to get out, he wanted to turn his back and run.

But he hadn't. He had stood there, watching the aching scene unfold, until finally Malfoy collapsed. Only then did Harry move, only then did he run forward to help. As he knelt over the unconscious boy, he realized why he hadn't moved. Malfoy deserved it, and deserved every minute of it. He was evil, he inflicted pain on others and now he got his pay.

Inside the Owlery, Harry shook himself. He leaned forward and propped his forehead up against his knees, breathing in deeply. Nobody deserved pain, not even people as evil as Malfoy. What had he felt in the forest? It still chilled him to think of the voice in his mind, telling him that Malfoy was getting was he deserved. On top of that, Madame Pomfrey knew what was wrong. She knew, and it had to be serious for her to react like that. What if Malfoy died?

He tried to erase the memory of Malfoy's screams. He pressed is head against his knees, as if trying to force the image away. Instead, it merely returned, clear as day. Malfoy clutching his arm as if in pain, and his own inability to do move. Harry groaned. The shrieks would not stop.

Harry clenched his fists, and stood up, grasping his Invisibility Cloak around him. He ran through the corridors, using the Marauder's Map as a guide, and burst through the Infirmary doors gasping. He bolted to Malfoy's bedside, dropping the Cloak in shimmering mess at his feet.

The white-blonde was still unconscious, his face still contorted with pain. At least he was alive. Harry sighed audibly, and sank to his knees in relief. Now, however, he felt the crush of guilt. Nobody deserved to feel pain, or die, even people as despicable as Malfoy. Why had he intentionally let Malfoy suffer? Maybe hate was a natural emotion, as natural as love. Perhaps he shouldn't feel guilty. Yet, as he continued to stare at Malfoy's drawn features, he realized he didn't hate this boy. He could never hate a classmate with the viciousness he associated with the emotion. Voldemort hated him, but Voldemort was evil. Harry was not evil, was he? Only evil people felt hate. Harry wasn't supposed to be evil, he was supposed to be good, and therefore he shouldn't feel hatred. Then why had he frozen today?

Harry leaned forward, putting his head to rest on the mattress of Malfoy's bed, though his thoughts still spun. He wasn't evil. He wasn't like Voldemort. He had friends who cared about him, a school that loved him, and a world that depended on him. He was not evil. He wasn't...


	3. Chapter Two

A hitching gasp released his lungs, sending a sharp spasm racing through his chest; doing nothing but increasing the pain he already felt. His entire body felt like it was on fire. It was most intense on his arm, as if thousands of pins were being repeatedly stabbed into him. He groaned, not ready to move for fear of increasing the pain.

As he tried to remember what exactly had happened, he forced his eyes open. It was night, and the moonlight filtered through vaguely shuttered windows, the wide sweeping windows of the Infirmary. When had he gone to the Infirmary?

The events leading up to his fainting came back slowly, almost reluctantly. The pain had started again, and he had been driven to the forest for solitude in his torture. He had been screaming... he had tried to stop, but the pain was too great. He remembered someone crashing through bushes trying to get to him...

A moan caused him to stiffen, as soon as he realized it wasn't his. He lifted his head painfully, and saw the most disturbing sight of his young teenage life. A shock of black hair framed a delicate, world-weary face and drifted down slowly around a pair of crooked glasses and a lightning bolt tattoo. Harry Potter was asleep, his cheek resting on his arm as the mattress sank under the weight of his head. What in Merlin's name was he doing here!?

It was then that he remembered who had crashed through bushes in the Forbidden Forest to get to him. That someone had owned a head of black hair, and a face as pale as ice. It had been Potter, and as soon as he realized it, Draco had bit his lip hard, in a vain attempt to stop screaming. Seeing Potter was bad enough, having Potter see him in pain was unspeakable, it was weakness, and intolerable. Yet, even as he bit his lip, another bout of pain had racked him hard enough to loose his tongue before he sunk into blackness.

Draco lay back, trying to focus amidst a swirl of thoughts running in his head. Should he wake the boy and demand he leave? Should he start a fight with the Boy Who Lived?

Sinking further into the pillows, he decided to let the other be. Much as he hated to admit it- would die before saying it aloud- he was frightened. Death was not something he would stare in the face as readily as the hero at his side, and it scared him. Someone, anyone, watching over him was a comfort, even if he was a rival.

Secure with that thought, and too exhausted to think anything else, Draco allowed his eyes to slide shut.

......

Harry wasn't completely awake when rough hands grabbed his shoulders hard and shook him. He was aware that he was very stiff from the night before, and figured he had somehow fallen out of bed, as he was sitting on the floor. He was pulled rather barbarically away from sheets that had been warmed by his cheek, and flipped around so that his back was to the bed. Glaring him in the face was a pair of blue eyes surrounded by fiery red hair, "Harry!?"

The boy blinked wearily, "Hey Ron..."

"What in Merlin's beard are you doing here!?" Ron hissed, shaking his friend hard.

Harry tried to pry his eyes open to take in his surroundings. White walls assailed his eyes, stunning him. What was he doing in the Infirmary? When had he gotten here!? "Sleeping, I think..." he murmured finally.

"Sleeping!?" Ron's voice was laced with incredulity, "Sleeping!?"

"Is there a law against sleeping?" Harry barked, his voice rising dangerously. Ron opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by Madame Pomfrey flinging open the curtains surrounding Malfoy's bed. Several things happened simultaneously. Harry quickly kicked the Invisibility Cloak under the bed, hoping she wouldn't notice it. Malfoy's eyes flashed open to watch the scene before him, as Madame Pomfrey turned red in anger.

"What in Merlin's beard are you doing in here!?"

Ron cringed, forcing out a lie that was as distasteful to him as spinach, "We came to see Malfoy."

"I don't think seeing him involves yelling and screaming," Madame Pomfrey hissed, her eyes flicking to Malfoy to notice he was awake, "Now that you've woken him, I'm sure you'll find yourself on your way." When neither Harry nor Ron moved, the nurse added, "Or points will be taken."

Without giving him time to think, Ron hefted Harry to his feet by his lapels and jerked him bodily out of the room. The door wasn't even shut behind them before Ron pushed Harry against a wall and held him there, fury lining his every feature. "Do you know who the hell that was?" Ron growled, "Why were you at Malfoy's bed!?"

Harry narrowed his eyes, ready to retort something painful. And then, suddenly, he recalled everything that had happened the day before, from the Forbidden Forest to the night at the Infirmary. His mouth fell open slightly, and he stared at Ron.

"Well?" the redhead pressed, gripping Harry's shoulders tightly, "Do you have an explanation? Or am I supposed to accept that my best friend is sleeping beside a Slytherin!?"

At the indiscrete wording, Harry flushed brightly, "What!?"

"You spent the entire night here, Harry!" Ron nearly yelled, his face just as red in anger as Harry's was in embarrassment, "What where you doing!? It's Malfoy!"

"It doesn't matter what I did!" Harry suddenly yelled, feeling somewhat trapped by Ron's subtle accusations, "Nothing happened! In fact, he doesn't even know I was there!"

"Then why did you go down!? Is it more comfortable to sleep on the floor? We have floors in the dorm!"

"I don't have to explain myself to you!" Harry spat, "You're not my keeper, I'm a free person to go where I want when I want. You don't need to watch me every hour!" If he knew... If he knew what had gone on inside the Boy Who Lived's head back in the Forest... Ron would be disgusted. What would the boy think about his friend if he realized that Harry was not who he thought?

Some of the anger left Ron's face, "Harry, you left without telling anyone! I looked all over the castle for you! I was... I was just worried about you..."

Ron may have not been angry anymore, but Harry was just getting started, "You were worried? Well that's just great, does that mean I have to tell you when I'm going to the bathroom from now on? Does that give you license to pry into my life!? Does this mean that I have to be under your supervision for the rest of the year!?"

"Harry..."

"No! Don't 'Harry' me like Hermione used-" he froze, and Ron's hands slid from his shirt. The redhead wore a stoic mask, but disappointment and pain were clear under it.

"Fine, Harry, you're right. I don't have to watch your every move." And with that he walked away, leaving Harry gripping the small diamond at his throat. The Boy Who Lived watched as his best friend's back grew smaller and smaller down the hall, wondering if he should run after the other and beg forgiveness. It was too late- Ron had turned a corner and disappeared.

Harry slid down the wall, drawing his knees up to his chest and hugging them tight to his body. If he could make himself smaller and shrink into the wall, he would have. But he didn't have the energy or his wand.

He rested his forehead on his knees, closing his eyes against a sudden pounding headache. Ron didn't understand. He hadn't been there in the Forest, he hadn't seen the pain Malfoy had been in. He hadn't seen Harry hesitate, hadn't heard that voice, "He deserves it. He deserves every minute of it."

Gripping his knees almost painfully, Harry felt a shudder rip through him as he tried desperately to refute that point. Nobody deserved pain, nobody. He had seen enough pain, suffering, and death. Nobody deserved pain, not even Malfoy.

......

Inside the Infirmary, Draco lay in bed, eyes wide against flushed cheeks. Potter and Weasel had been decently loud, enough for the sound of every word to carry through the doors. He had heard the entire conversation, and was now very, very confused. Since when did the Dynamic Duo start fighting? And what had happened to the Third Stooge to make Potter freeze up like that?

Potter didn't think he had been caught by Draco, and who was he to destroy that illusion? Still, he bristled at the thought of Weasel's insinuation. He and Potter, sleeping together!? The very thought was appalling.

He was struggling into a sitting position when Madame Pomfrey returned to the Infirmary to check up on him. She grinned tersely when she saw he was awake, and moved to fluff his pillow. "How are you feeling, Mr. Malfoy?" she asked.

"Chipper, thanks," he replied curtly, "I think I'll just be leaving now." He made to swing his legs to the side of the bed, but Madame Pomfrey would not let him.

"Mr. Malfoy," she crossed her arms over her chest, "We need to talk."

He didn't like the sound of that.

"You are aware," she started, "that you are under a curse."

"I think you are mistaken," Draco had been prepared for this, "Passing out is a symptom of a curse, but also of bad food, bad potion, fright, anything almost."

She clenched her jaw, "And do the effects of bad food usually include screaming before passing out?"

Draco bit his lip, and nearly yelped in pain. It was still raw from the day before, and started bleeding again. Well, now would be a good time to break his lip-biting habit...

The nurse sat down on the edge of the bed, "I have seen this before, in those who were to be punished. More than one student from Slytherin has come through with this exact same curse, although I must admit, you seem to have it the worst." She took a deep breath, "It is called the _Obietus Curse_. I believe you know what it is supposed to do, I do not think you know just how deep the curse goes."

The boy grit his teeth, shocked that she would know so much about the curse. He knew well what it was supposed to do. It was meant to break him, and inflict as much pain as possible to turn him into the perfect killing machine- no emotion, no loyalties, no relations. Directed solely by the Dark Lord, a mindless zombie with no will of his own.

"Mr. Malfoy," her sharp tone brought him back from his mind, and he stared at her blankly, "This is not some class that you can drift off in. This is your physical safety, and you will do well to listen. You are in the mere incubation stage of the curse, the imprinting of the Mark." As she spoke, she put wards around the privacy curtains to forestall any first year eavesdroppers.

This shocked him, "This is just the first part?"

She nodded sadly, her eyes holding sympathy, "It will get worse. You will begin to feel cold, and soon you will lose all sense of warmth. You will continue to have these small attacks of pain, depending on how much you resist. The line between good and evil will become blurred, although for you, I see that there was no line to begin with..." She smiled almost affectionately, but Draco dismissed it as a trick of light as she continued softly, "You may even find that speaking will be painful. You will undoubtedly have visions of the Dark Lord, and they will be more than dreams, for they will hurt. There is the possibility of blindness. You will find yourself more intolerable than ever before, to the dismay, I'm sure, of your classmates. Cranky, snappy, basically just not fun to be around."

Draco lifted his eyebrows, "You're telling me this curse makes me PMS?"

Wrong answer.

Madame Pomfrey jerked into a standing position, slamming her hands onto her hips, "Mr. Malfoy, you do not realize the danger that you are in! You could possibly die of this, I do hope you realize."

He sunk back into the pillows, knowing that she would not understand that he really didn't care anymore. Hearing the full effects of the curse had made him more than slightly nauseous, and now he just needed to be alone to think.

"Young Malfoy!" Madame Pomfrey was bright red by now; he had drifted off again in the middle of the conversation. He snapped to attention, eyeing her distastefully. "I said, Professor Snape is working on an inhibitor for you until we can determine the means of a cure. You should see him the first chance you get." He nodded slowly, wondering if he should or shouldn't. Anyone who tried to help him would get in the Dark Lord's way, and would undoubtedly die. Then again, Snape seemed to have a talent for irking Voldemort.

......

It had been a day since their fight, and still Ron refused to talk to Harry. Sure they stood next to each other now, but Ron was conspicuously looking in the opposite direction, chatting merrily with Seamus as Harry stood moodily in relished silence. Harry vaguely wondered how long this would go on, and didn't feel the slightest bit guilty. He deserved a bit of privacy. Ron had no right to pry into his life as if he was Harry's mother.

Malfoy was back and looking as surly as ever under the shade of a tree. He had cringed in the sunlight as if it hurt his eyes, and had ducked under the tree when Hagrid had arrived late for the start of class. The half-giant stood now, giving what sounded suspiciously like a lecture on the tributes of tree nymphs, while herding the class closer to Malfoy's tree.

Jostled from behind and both sides, Harry found himself suddenly squeezed between Malfoy and Ron, a position he did not find at all comfortable. The Slytherin scowled and hissed as Harry touched his arm accidentally, "Get off, Potter. I do believe that is termed personal space."

"I do believe that is termed 'shove off you stupid git, there's not enough room'," shot Ron from Harry's other side. Suddenly, Harry felt a stab of relief. Ron wasn't mad enough to stop defending him against Malfoy- they still had something in common.

It was then that Malfoy noticed the glittering jewel at Ron's throat. In the bustle to move under the branches, it had been jarred from its normal resting place underneath his shirt and now caught sunlight beautifully through the leaves of the tree above them. "How did you get that, Weasel?" Malfoy used his wand to lift the diamond by its chain from his chest, "Did you sell your sister?"

Even the Slytherins knew something had gone horribly wrong. The entire class froze as one, as heat rushed to both Ron's and Harry's faces. "You stupid, bloody basta-" With all eyes on them alone, Ron drew back his fist but was bested by Harry who was closer. Harry leapt on Malfoy, dragging him to the ground on his back and landing a square punch to the ferret's jaw. The blonde head snapped back, cracking against a tree root, and Malfoy raised his hands in self-defense, grasping Harry's arms in an attempt to throw the other off.

Malfoy kicked at Harry hard, managing to catch his stomach. Harry gasped as air was forced from his lungs, but held on to Malfoy's shirt as tightly as he could, intent on making the Slytherin feel just as much pain as he was feeling now- inside and out.

"Harry, Harry!" a gruff voice echoed desperately amidst the pounding of blood in his ears, but Harry wasn't ready to listen yet. All he could hear was Hermione's last words, the icy touch of her skin as they sat on that godforsaken mountain and sobbed over her dead body. He lifted Malfoy's head and slammed it hard against the ground again, enough to make the Slytherin see stars.

"You bloody bastard!" Harry yelled, heedless of the many hands trying to force him away, "You bloody, stupid bastard I hope you burn in hell!" Finally, Hagrid managed to reach the scuffling boys and he lifted Harry gently, as a mother lifts a toddler.

"Harry, calm down," Hagrid urged gently, patting the boy's back as he continued to struggle.

"The bastard!" Harry yelled, "I'll kill him!" The class was staring with wide eyes at the Boy Who Lived, and Malfoy was looking up from the ground through a black eye and bloody lip.

"Class dismissed," Hagrid roared, startling the students into motion. They walked speedily away, with whispers trickling through the crowd of disbelief and fright. Ron stayed behind, pale and concerned for Harry, who had calmed a bit by now. "Ron you head on back," Hagrid urged, putting a large hand on Harry's shoulder, "They need to go to the Infirmary." It was then that Harry realized he had multiple bruises on his arms from where Malfoy had grabbed him, and his stomach hurt from the kick and from nausea.

"Hagrid..." Harry swayed uneasily, holding his stomach. "I don't feel..." he dropped to his knees and was violently sick on the ground, choking and gasping horribly as Malfoy watched in amazement. Hagrid rubbed the poor boy's back soothingly, large tears falling into the mess of hair he called a beard. Harry retched again, the motion raking his body with shudders when nothing came up.

"It's all right, Harry, you're okay," Hagrid murmured. He lifted the boy easily, and cast a hateful glare at Malfoy, who had been too stunned to move from the ground, "You. To the Infirmary with ya." Malfoy normally would have protested, groaning about how he would not be ordered around by some half-breed, but at this particular moment he felt as if he had pressed his luck. He stood as best he could with the world tilting dangerously, and followed the professor to the hospital wing.

Madame Pomfrey looked absolutely mortified at what Hagrid brought her. Harry was merely exhausted, and needed rest. Draco, on the other hand, would have scars for the rest of his life on his face where Harry had drawn blood if something wasn't done quickly. She put the boys in beds directly next to each other, the ones usually saved for close friends who were injured (Harry, Hermione, and Ron most of the times), beds that shared a privacy curtain.

Harry fell right asleep, weary from the fight and the effects. Madame Pomfrey attended to Draco, reducing the swelling in his eye, and fixing his lip. "You," she glared at him with almost as much ferocity as Hagrid had, "This is below low for you. You know very well that Miss Granger was killed last year-"

In actuality, Draco had not known, and his face must have shown, because the nurse stepped back, "You did know that, did you not? Professor Dumbledore announced it at the opening ceremonies this year."

The Slytherin shook his head, "I wasn't here for the ceremonies."

"Surely you noticed the three were missing one."

"I try not to make it a habit of staring at Potter and his posse."

"Hermione Granger was killed last year by Voldemort, during the raid of the Leaky Cauldron. Those diamonds that Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasely wear so faithfully are her ashes, compressed and Transfigured. I cannot believe you would be so heartless, Mr. Malfoy, when you yourself suffer from Voldemort's oppression," Madame Pomfrey's voice shook. Whether from anger or sorrow it was hard to tell, as she spun and drew the curtains shut around them. "_Sleep_," called her voice from the other side, and almost immediately Draco felt his eyes grow heavy.


	4. Chapter Three

It had to have been past midnight when Draco awoke. He scowled at Madame Pomfrey for casting a cheap sleeping spell on him, but struggled to sit up in his covers anyway. He was still sore from his earlier beating, but things could have been a lot worse.

Nix that, things _were_ a lot worse. Draco turned to see Potter staring at him with hate from the bed beside his.

For some reason, fear struck his heart. The look in Potter's eyes was disturbing, almost insane. Perhaps if he didn't make any sudden movements he'd be safe. He sat silently, staring back at Potter. Suddenly, the other leapt from his bed and in a flash of movement almost too quick to see, pinned Draco on his back with a wand to his throat. The Slytherin closed his eyes and put his hands palm up beside his head to show he wasn't going to fight back. Potter had finally snapped, and now he was going to run rampaging through the school, and he was going to be the first to die.

The wand tip sparked painfully against his Adam's apple, and then, to his surprise, the hand at his throat loosed its grip. There was the shifting of fabric as Potter sat back, taking the wand away and resting his weight fully on Draco's abdomen. Draco opened his eyes, quite shocked to find he was still alive, and looked questioningly at Potter.

"No."

Draco cocked an eyebrow. He hadn't said anything. Now Potter was answering the voices in his head. Definitely snapped.

Potter tensed, and in a violent motion flung his wand across the room, "No!" Draco could hear it skitter across the floor, and come to rest against one of the far walls of the Infirmary. He stared at Potter in amazement as a tiny drip of water shook itself loose down his cheek from his eye. "This is stupid," the boy finally spat, "You're stupid, I'm stupid. This whole damn situation is stupid. We shouldn't be fighting each other when Voldemort is out there."

Unconsciously, Draco flinched at the name. Potter obviously felt it, and narrowed his eyes at the blonde. Draco quickly covered, "Well, why don't you scurry off then, and defeat the evil in the world so that I can get some sleep."

Potter growled, "You're a bastard."

"And this concerns me... why?"

The Boy Who Lived clambered off Draco's bed and slid into his own, turning his back to the Slytherin and drawing the covers up over his head. For some reason, Draco was slightly disconcerted. He had to admit, hitting at the diamonds now seemed rather tactless, even for him. Now that he knew what they were, he'd probably poke some other button of Weasel's. But that didn't make him sorry for it, did it? He let out a disgusted snort as he wondered, was he becoming sentimental? Merlin, what would his father say!?

He shook his silver hair absently and reclined in the bed. Hopefully tomorrow would bring about something helpful, instead of all this puttering about mindlessly.

......

The next morning was absolute torture. Madame Pomfrey refused to move either of them to different beds, claiming to have a full Infirmary. She would not allow either of the boys to return to their dorms, and remained obstinately negative on the grounds of allowing visitors for Harry.

This meant a full day of nothing but Malfoy as company.

The sting from his comments the day before had not nearly begun to fade, and Harry did his best to ignore the presence of the other boy, keeping himself occupied by going over Quidditch formations and twisting the diamond in his fingers absently. As for what Draco did, it didn't really matter. The other had merely sat there all day, content in silence, fingering his arm gingerly.

That night, however, Harry was still awake nearing midnight. All the sleep he had gotten the day before kept him up now, while his prison mate slept unperturbed by the insomnia that struck Harry. Harry lay back, staring at the ceiling. He wanted out, he wanted to get back to the Gryffindor dorm and hang out with his friends, not be stuck here with some slimy toad of a Slytherin.

A moan from the bed beside him entered his thoughts, and he turned in irritation to glare at the other. Malfoy was still asleep, but... something was wrong. His face twisted painfully, and he was paler than he normally was.

Harry sat up, anxiously watching Malfoy. What if he started screaming again? Harry's worry rose as the white-blonde groaned again, and unconsciously grabbed his arm. The Boy Who Lived slid from under the covers of his bed to stand beside Malfoy's, and wondered if he should wake the boy or leave him be. If he screamed, Madame Pomfrey would come running and take care of it, but Harry wasn't sure he could take it again. Once in the Forest had been more than enough for him.

Malfoy turned on his side and yelled in pain, clutching his arm tightly. Harry acted quickly, grabbing the other's shoulders and shaking him hard, "Malfoy, Malfoy! Wake up!"

Instinctively, Malfoy's hand shot up and caught Harry's jaw, returning the punch from yesterday. Harry stumbled backwards, but bent over the boy again, shaking him harder, "Malfoy, wake up!"

The Slytherin started thrashing about, yelling, until finally Harry backhanded him across the cheek. Malfoy's eyes flashed open, and he frantically scanned the inside of their curtain, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He shot up in his bed, and for a moment Harry was afraid he was going to be sick. The Gryffindor reached for the basin in the nightstand, but froze at a moan. He looked back at Malfoy, to find him huddled around himself, head bent into upraised knees.

"Malfoy, are you all right?" Harry cocked an eyebrow and moved closer. To his great shock, Malfoy was shaking horribly, enough to make the bed vibrate slightly. He reached out a tentative hand and touched Malfoy's shoulder, a common gesture of comfort for him. The Slytherin jerked out from under his touch, but not before Harry had felt how cold Malfoy's skin was. Unnaturally cold, deathly cold. "Malfoy," Harry gasped, "You're freezing." He jumped to his bed and pulled the covers from the mattress to drape them over Malfoy.

"I don't need your sympathy, Potter," Malfoy grunted through chattering teeth.

"I didn't offer it," Harry returned icily, "I offered you another blanket." He moved over to his own bed and sat down on it, facing the huddled figure, "What's wrong with you?"

"Besides the fact that I'm a heartless bastard?"

Harry frowned, "That's not what I meant. You can't be that cold... and... and..." He swallowed hard, trying not to picture Hermione lying in the snow. "You'd be dead," he finished curtly.

"Thank you for the wonderful insight," Malfoy squeezed his knees close to his chest in an effort to make some kind of warmth. Harry rubbed his fingertips together, trying to lose the feeling of that intense cold.

"I'm going to get Madame Pomfrey," Harry stood and made to pull the curtain back.

"She already knows," Malfoy blurted, lifting his head slightly, "Go back to bed."

Harry let the curtain fall, shrugging. She undoubtedly already knew something, after the way she had thrown him out the other day. He returned to his vantage point and watched as Malfoy shivered uncontrollably. Then, still haunted by his guilt over the Forest incident, and feeling that this was all somehow his fault, he made the strangest suggestion he had ever made in his life, "Do you want me to sleep with you?"

Malfoy's face paled even more drastically as he gawked at Harry. Quickly, Harry recovered, "No, I meant to share warmth." Another phrase wrongly put. "I mean... Argh!" he gave up, hoping Malfoy would not think anything sexual by his offer. "Look, you shaking in that bed all night is not going to get me any sleep," he put it in terms Malfoy could understand- selfishly wanting sleep while Malfoy suffered. Indeed, the Slytherin was making a decent amount of noise on the rusted springs of his mattress.

Malfoy looked around, taking in the privacy curtains, and then let his eyes rest on Harry. Almost imperceptibly, he allowed the word to fall from his lips, regretting every letter of it, "Fine."

Harry blinked, unsure if he had heard correctly, "What?"

"I said, 'Fine'," Malfoy muttered again, opening the blankets to let cold air breeze against his skin, sending more shivers down his body. Harry jumped from his bed quickly, and slid beside Malfoy, cautiously trying to position himself unassertively. He didn't want Malfoy getting the wrong ideas, but this was something he and Ron did on cold nights, along with the rest of the Gryffindor crew, sleeping on the floor beside the fires, all bundled together- boys and girls alike.

Malfoy lay down, and Harry carefully folded himself to hold Malfoy, his chest pressing against the Slytherin's back, arms draped around his shoulders, both blankets on top of them. He caught himself shivering at the touch of Malfoy's skin, and tried to stop.

"You don't have to do this," Malfoy's voice drifted up weakly, for he was feeling rather stupid and embarrassed at the whole situation.

"Mmm," Harry mumbled, resting his forehead at the base of Malfoy's neck where silvery hair drifted peaceably, as if unsure whether they were supposed to follow gravity's laws and fall downward or continue breezing about. Harry supposed he should be thankful that he was so embarrassed, it was creating even more heat from him, and Malfoy eventually stopped shivering as he dropped off to sleep.

......

Several days later, Harry was released from the Infirmary with a stiff warning from both Madame Pomfrey and Professor Dumbledore. He now sat in Potions, trying hard to concentrate and trying hard **_not_** to stare at a certain silver blonde head. Ron kept prodding him, asking what had happened in the Infirm, oozing about how horrible it must have been locked up with Malfoy for a day. To this, Harry just nodded absently. He couldn't help but feel that he had seen another side of Malfoy that night. Something that nobody else had ever seen before, a side of Malfoy that was vulnerable and easily broken.

That morning had been extraordinarily amusing, especially seeing Madame Pomfrey's face when she pulled back the curtains. She had paled, then flushed brightly, paled again, and then turned an almost purple color, and had quickly levitated Harry into his own bed while Malfoy protested about the cold. She then turned and introduced Professor Dumbledore to them both, and oddly enough he was smiling knowingly.

Harry groaned imperceptibly and dropped his head onto his Potions book. He'd never be able to face Dumbledore again, or Madame Pomfrey for that matter. Malfoy hadn't had much of a problem, he had made some snide remark about Muggle lovers and fell back asleep leaving Harry to take the brunt of Madame Pomfrey's speeches. When she was done, however, and she turned to close the curtain, Harry was almost positive he had seen her smile.

"What?" Ron had asked him another question.

"I said- did you punch him another one?"

"Oh, yeah," Harry recalled how he had been forced to wake Malfoy up in the night, "I gave him another..." Ron sat back satisfied, as Harry lost himself in his thoughts again. What exactly was wrong with Malfoy, and what could have possibly scared him so much to accept bunking in with his long-time rival? That night, he had seen beneath the nasty exterior of Draco Malfoy. It was even getting hard to think of Draco as Malfoy anymore, he seemed more human now, more normal. Was it possible that Malfoy was normal? Was Malfoy capable of breaking the ice that surrounded him? Could he be turned in to something worthwhile?

"Mr. Potter."

Harry jumped, as Snape's abnormally large nose appeared directly in his line of sight. "Yes, Professor."

"Did the two days in the Infirmary slow your wit even more?" the teacher drawled slowly, "Or do you always tend to drift off in classes of great importance?"

"No, sir."

"Tell me, what is the main ingredient in a Veritas potion?"

Harry sighed inwardly. He figured the answer was in last night's homework, homework he hadn't gotten a chance to do yet as he was in the Infirm. Determined not to be completely and utterly stumped, he replied, "Bratwurst."

Several Muggle-raised Gryffindors started giggling, much to Snape's fury. He spun, his dark cloak billowing behind him, and marched up to his desk, "Ten points from Gryffindor for disruption, and five for insubordination, Mr. Potter."

The Gryffindors sighed as a group. Another typical Potions class. They could always win points back in Quidditch.

......

The corridors were empty at this time of day, students were either in the Great Hall feasting or out on the grounds playing or studying. Harry enjoyed the solitude of merely wandering, he didn't feel sociable at this point in time, and was still trying to figure out what to do about Malfoy. If he could help it, he wasn't going to ever hear Malfoy scream like that day in the Forest. Not if he had anything to say about it.

But what was it that had made him scream like that? Harry shuddered, quite sure that he didn't want to feel it, whatever it was. Not if it caused that much pain.

Harry turned a corner and knocked his head against something hard. He reeled back a step and opened his mouth, when he noticed what he had hit. Malfoy was standing there, rubbing his forehead also. They were about the same height, and had come around the corner fast enough to knock heads.

"Potter," Malfoy greeted him and made to pass him, but Harry sidestepped into his way. Malfoy paused, "Can I help you? Possibly suck up to Professor Snape for you? Pound some knowledge into that cranium of yours that appears to be so thick?"

Harry scowled, his earlier thoughts dismissed. Malfoy was, and always would be, a snotty git. He let the other pass, but, as he watched, Malfoy paused and shook his head hard, as if to clear it. When he started forward again, he staggered a bit and leaned against the wall, breathing hard. Then, as if sensing Harry's eyes, turned and growled, "What are you staring at? Don't you have some heroic act of stupidity to perform today? Why don't you run off and find one?"

Harry crossed his arms over his chest defiantly, "I want to help you."

His words had a drastic effect on the other. Malfoy paled and stumbled against the wall, nearly falling. "Y-You **_what_**!?"

"I want to help you," Harry repeated, "You're obviously in pain, and I want to know what's wrong, so that I can help."

"That's all fine and dandy for you, Mr. Hero," Malfoy grit through his teeth, "But some of us don't need rescuing."

"I just want to help," Harry frowned. This wasn't how he thought Malfoy would react. He hadn't expected to be welcomed with open arms, but this flat out rejection stung.

"What makes you think I'd want your help?" Malfoy flared, "You've been nothing but a pain in my ass all seven years we've been here, and-"

"What makes you think I'd offer?" Harry shot back, "Your '**_Master'_** killed my best friend, killed Cedric, killed many other students and Merlin knows how many Muggles since he rose."

"Oh, so you think you're obligated," Malfoy spat, his gray eyes sparking angrily, "Because you're the good guy, the one who holds out his hand to the fallen enemy, expecting to become fast friends? Is that it?"

Harry's eyes widened. Was that it? Is that what he expected? He hadn't really thought about that...

"I don't need your pity, Potter," Malfoy growled.

Harry was about to fire another comment when two first years rounded the corner to see the two most famous boys in school. Both froze, both girls, and their eyes grew wide with their fortune. The two were Ravenclaw, and each wore a blue ribbon in her hair for house pride. Harry shot a look at Malfoy, and then back to the goggling girls. He stalked over to the Slytherin and muttered, "Come outside." He started out to the grounds, and Malfoy, not wishing to be left alone with two oogling first years, followed at an almost frantic pace as the Ravenclaws cried out in dismay behind him.

Outside, Harry was by the lake, and was mildly surprised that Malfoy had come all the way out. He would have thought the other would take the chance to run, but he didn't, and now they stood side by side at the lake.

"What do you want?" Malfoy broke the silence rather rudely.

Harry shoved his hands deep into his pockets and shrugged.

"Well that's not good enough," Malfoy said, with no hint of sarcasm or malice in his voice. The tone made Harry turn in shock, stopping himself from asking Malfoy to repeat. Before he could say anything, however, a chilled breeze swept across them both. Malfoy paled considerably at the temperature, and Harry looked around to find its source. The day was bright, the sun was warm, and it was a typical September afternoon. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, and nothing around that would have caused it.

"Did you...?" Harry breathed, feeling a shiver run down his spine. Malfoy had his eyes on the sky, and suddenly he stepped back with a cry of alarm. Harry's eyes shot upward, and he saw cloaked figures swooping from the sky at them. The September heat was quickly replaced by a sinister cold, as dementors dropped out of the sky around them.

Malfoy gave a strangled gasp of horror as one approached him. He stepped back into Harry, who spun the other behind him and stood over him protectively, wand out and tip glowing. "**_Expecto_**-" Harry started, but Malfoy sagged against him, almost knocking him over, "Malfoy!" The boy was a pasty white, breathing shallowly but still conscious. He struggled to sit up from his fallen place on the ground, and fumbled about for his wand.

The cold was unbearable, and Harry could only imagine how Malfoy felt. There were so many of them, and only one of him. There was no way he could defend himself and Malfoy, but he had to try. "**_Expecto Patronum_**!" he yelled, trying to think of any happy memory at all. His wand tip sparked, but nothing came out of it. No white stag, no flash of blinding light, nothing. Now panicked, Harry jabbed his wand at the nearest one, "**_Expecto Patronum_**! **_Expecto Patronum_**!"

All he could hear was his mother's screams, Hermione's screams, Malfoy's screams. They rang in his ears and pounded into his head, driving away any thought of happiness. He sank to his knees, still holding his wand up and trying to focus. One dementor's hood came precariously close to Harry's face as he succumbed to the shrieking blackness.


	5. Chapter Four

"-Merlin someone was there. They would both be worse than dead if Severus had not seen the commotion."

Harry allowed a groan to escape his lips at the mention of the Potions teacher, and tried in vain to open his eyes.

"Poppy, I believe young Potter is awake." The familiar voice full of wisdom and childish fantasy allowed Harry to wake fully, and stare into the face of Albus Dumbledore.

"Hallo Professor..." Harry murmured, still painfully aware of that last time Dumbledore had seen him.

"Hallo, Harry. Feeling better?" the Headmaster grinned. Harry nodded, feeling like a small child under parental scrutiny for some reason. He hadn't really done anything wrong, just gone outside to talk with...

Malfoy.

Harry jerked up in the Infirmary bed, looking around wildly for Malfoy. Madame Pomfrey made a noise and Dumbledore put a gentle hand on Harry's shoulder to stop him from leaving the bed.

"Professor, Malfoy- I mean Draco-" Harry said anxiously.

"Is perfectly all right," the wizard smiled, "for the time being. That, however, depends on how many more dementors you both run into."

Harry shuddered involuntarily, "Professor, I wasn't... I didn't do anything wrong. I wasn't even in the Forest. They just... they just came out of nowhere."

"Everything has an origin, young Potter," Dumbledore intoned, leaning back in his chair, "You just happened to be in the wrong place, with the wrong company, at the wrong time. Luckily for the both of you, Professor Snape was there." Harry fought the scowl that threatened his lips. He didn't appreciate the thought of being indebted to Snape. Dumbledore patted Harry's leg reassuringly, and then lifted into the air a few feet. Harry watched in amazement as the chair he sat in levitated itself out the door and floated down the hallway, carrying the whistling Headmaster.

Madame Pomfrey clicked her tongue at Harry, "You just seem to attract trouble, don't you?" She broke a piece off a bar of chocolate in her hand and passed it to Harry, "Eat." He nibbled it, and found himself still shaking from his encounter with the Dark creatures. It was then he noticed his hand was in bandages. He looked at it, with an eyebrow cocked, until Madame Pomfrey spoke up, "You fell oddly, and somehow managed to break it."

Harry frowned. This was not a good year.

......

As soon as Madame Pomfrey left his side, Harry jumped out of bed and hunted for Malfoy. He found the boy behind the curtains at the far end of the room, still unconscious. Harry pulled a chair into the curtains and closed them again, sitting down inside the quiet space to watch Malfoy as the boy's chest rose and fell in labored breaths. His color had improved from a pasty white to a chalky sort of color- it was an improvement, though not a large one. Sweat matted silver hair to the boy's face, and his lips were parted slightly in an effort to breathe easier.

Harry leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. He had done this. He had been the one who suggested they go outside, he had picked the lake as the spot to talk, it was his fault. He leaned his forehead into his hands, letting black hair fall in his eyes and over his clenched fists. He couldn't do anything right. He couldn't protect Hermione. He couldn't protect Malfoy. What good was a hero who couldn't get a simple spell right? It wasn't the first time he had done a Patronus charm, why had this time failed? Third year he had driven away just as many dementors with one charm, but this time it had seemed impossible.

Now, he couldn't drive the voices from his mind. Malfoy's, Hermione's, his mother's... they all screamed for him, at him, with him. He couldn't shake the feeling of dread that the dementors had left with him. Harry uncurled his fingers and laced them through his hair, gripping strands tightly. Why wouldn't the world just leave him alone? He wasn't a hero, he couldn't protect those he loved, or even those he hated. He wasn't a hero; he was a stupid little boy whom Fate had decided to play games with.

He slid from his chair, kneeling at Malfoy's bedside, and, shaking, folded his arms on the mattress to rest his head in them. He wouldn't cry, he wouldn't cry. A hitching gasp that arose from his chest made him think otherwise. His glasses were getting wet, and he took them and threw them across the curtained space, where they sat staring at him dejectedly. He didn't care at this point in time, as he covered his head with his arms and tried to sob somewhat quietly.

......

He awoke for the third time this week to the bland darkened ceiling of the Infirmary. Then again, the Slytherin dungeons didn't have much appeal either, so it was hard to tell which was more annoying. Possibly the Infirmary, because it meant that warden Madame Pomfrey would be patrolling him, keeping him bound to the bed until all was well.

Draco sighed heavily, and tried not to move. His entire body was freezing, and he had just gotten to the point where he was too exhausted to shiver anymore. It was a goal he was happy with, for the incessant shaking had been more than a little annoying. The two blankets on the Infirmary bed were doing nothing to keep warmth near him, but he huddled under them anyway. It was better than nothing.

As he shifted, he felt a tugging from one of the sides. He looked down and jumped nearly out of the bed. Potter was sleeping at the side of his bed again, but this time... it wasn't an innocent sleep. To Draco's immense shock, Potter's face was streaked with tears; his nose and cheeks still red from crying. It appeared the Gryffindor had cried himself to sleep.

Draco fidgeted uncomfortably. He had never had anyone who sat up over him to watch as he slept. He had never known anyone to cry over him, or be there as a comfort for him. It was new, and he wasn't sure if he liked it. But he did know, that for some reason, over the past few days he had begun to take Potter's presence for granted. He expected the other to be there, and waking up to see Potter at his bed was a bittersweet relief. While Potter may have been nothing but a do-good Gryffindor, he had the Gryffindor heart of courage and protectiveness, and that put Draco at ease. Besides, they had something in common- a strong dislike for the Dark Lord.

Pale fingers reached out to touch the pearly sheens on Potter's cheeks, tracing their wetness down to his chin. Draco wondered what had made the boy cry like that, though he would die before asking or even seeming to care. He still had his pride, although he appeared to be developing a dependence on this boy.

......

Blearily stretching out his wand, he mumbled through a mouthful of fabric, "**_Accio_** glasses."

Evidently, an exploding spell sounded remarkably like the muffled Summoning spell, and the vase next to Malfoy's bed exploded in a shower of glass, water, and lily petals. Harry groaned and dropped his head back to the mattress. He was not ready to get up yet- the few days of irregular sleeping had thrown his normal five hours a night into chaos.

Grumbling at the bright sunlight that pierced the Infirmary windows, Harry forced himself to his feet and tried the Summoning spell again, this time successfully. He slid the glasses onto his nose and yawned, throwing out his arms in a wide stretch that cracked his back and loosened his muscles. Now fully awake, he shot a glance at the pale boy asleep in the bed next to him. To his surprise, Malfoy looked a good deal better. He had returned to his not-chalky-pale pallor, which for him was rather healthy, and his breathing was regular, the deep breathing of a peaceful sleep.

Harry smiled, utterly relieved by Malfoy's improvement. He was so relieved, in fact, that he didn't mind when Malfoy's gray eyes opened and glared accusingly at him. He was so relieved, he found himself being civil to his rival, "Hallo Malfoy."

Instantly on his guard, Malfoy frowned, "Which Slytherin did you kill?"

Harry's smile dropped, "I-I didn't kill anyone!"

"Then why are you smiling like you've just had several gallons of Butterbeer?"

"B-Because!" Harry sputtered, confused now, "You look a lot better than you did last night!"

The shock on Malfoy's face was apparent and fleeting. His jaw dropped but was retrieved quickly, as he carefully directed his gaze elsewhere, "Why should you care?"

Harry bit his lip, "Because it was my fault you were out there to begin with..." He wondered why he bothered. Malfoy wouldn't know anything about guilt or responsibility. Whenever something went wrong he probably ran to his father, who shelled out a couple galleons and was done with it. He lifted his eyes to see Malfoy staring at him strangely. Before he could question it, however, the privacy curtains were ripped open, and Madame Pomfrey's eternally anxious face glowered at the both of them.

"Mr. Potter, I have been all over the school looking for you," she barked.

Harry cringed, "I haven't left the Infirmary..."

"The next time you feel inclined to leave your bed," she growled, "Please do me the favor of at least informing one of the portraits."

"Yes'm," Harry seemed to whither under her glare.

She turned to Malfoy, her face softening considerably, "And how are we feeling today, Mr. Malfoy?"

"**_I_** am feeling fine," he drawled, giving her a distasteful look, "I'm not sure how you are, however."

If his sarcasm affected her in any way, she didn't show it. If anything she looked happy, "Wonderful, wonderful. Professor Dumbledore will be most pleased. You two are expected in his office immediately. Hurry along." She ushered the two boys from the Infirmary without another word, closing the door swiftly behind them.

Harry looked at Malfoy quizzically, "Did you do anything?"

The other sighed in exasperation, "Why would I do anything to get that Muggle-lover on my case?"

Harry conceded he had a point. Malfoy wouldn't do anything to anger Dumbledore; he would do his best to avoid contact by all means. Then, why would Dumbledore send them both to his office? Obviously it was about the dementors yesterday, but... Harry hadn't done anything wrong. Dementors were not supposed to be inside the grounds anyway, Dumbledore was supposed to keep them out. Then again, with the Dark Lord's presence, the dementors had added strength.

The Gryffindor stopped in front of the gargoyle that led to Dumbledore's office. It leapt nimbly from its perch to let them past, and Harry took the lead into the amazing room that Dumbledore had furnished. A beautiful call echoed in the room, and Fawkes flew from his perch to alight Harry's shoulder. The boy laughed with delight- it had been a while since he had seen the phoenix. "How are you?" Harry murmured to the bird while Malfoy took a hesitant step backwards.

"Good morning boys," the Headmaster of Hogwarts stepped from his inner office and smiled cheerily, "If you would, have a seat please." Harry released Fawkes somewhat reluctantly, and the bird floated to his stand. Harry sat down, but Malfoy remained standing. "Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore noticed, "I do not bite, and I am quite sure I will not rub Muggle germs on you, you may sit."

Malfoy had the grace to look embarrassed as a slight flush tinged his ears, and he took a seat next to Harry. The Professor looked at both of them, and then steepled his fingers and leaned back in his chair, "Now, may I inquire as to why you both were at the lake that day?"

Harry glanced at Malfoy, and, when the other made no move to open his mouth, he started, "It was my idea, Professor... I wanted to talk to... Malfoy..."

The Professor's shock was evident, his eyebrows arched considerably while his eyes still sparkled behind half-moon glasses. "Have you and Mr. Malfoy decided to forget your differences?" he asked.

Malfoy jumped, but refused to say anything and instead glared at the Headmaster. Harry opened his mouth reluctantly, "No. There was... just something we had to discuss..." He stared woodenly at a spot over Dumbledore's shoulder. It wasn't as if he wanted to forget their differences. He was quite fine with their rivalry. If anything changed now, it would... destroy the delicate House balance, surely. Harry suppressed a shudder as he remembered exactly how they had been brought together.

"Draco," Harry started as Dumbledore said Malfoy's first name. It was odd hearing it, after so many years of calling him Malfoy, "Do you have any idea as to why you both were attacked yesterday?" The white-blonde shook his head, still glaring at the professor sullenly. "You have caused Harry much grief, for he feels it was his fault that you both were out there in the first place. However, the dementors were searching the grounds for you, young Malfoy." Malfoy paled, and his eyes widened. He threw a quick glance over at Harry before returning to the professor.

"Me?"

"Yes. It seems that your father is not satisfied with the pain he has already inflicted on you, and wishes to help speed the curse in its course. Therefore he sent the dementors." Dumbledore stood and started pacing the floor of his office, "Adding such variables could produce adverse effects, however, which is why I am surprised he tried sending the dementors." He whirled on Malfoy, "Have you been in contact with your father at all this year?"

With an eyebrow cocked, Malfoy replied, "He **_is_** my father, Headmaster."

The wizened man sighed and dropped back into his chair. "Harry," Harry's green eyes flashed back to the Headmaster from their previous position of watching Malfoy.

"Yes, Headmaster."

"Do you know why you have been following Mr. Malfoy for the past few days?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably, "Yes." When Dumbledore gave a nod of his head, indicating for him to continue, Harry took a deep breath, "I-I felt guilty... Because in the forest he was in so much pain, and... I didn't move to help him..."

"Very good," the older man smiled warmly, "Your Gryffindor heart contains qualities of protectiveness as well as courage. You did not care that young Malfoy was your rival- he was in pain and you wanted to comfort him. This is as natural to a Gryffindor as slyness to a Slytherin; no need to feel embarrassed, Harry." He sat back and continued in his soft, unhurried voice, "Therefore I give you a charge." Harry allowed his eyebrow to rise questioningly. What was the professor hinting at? He shot a glance at Malfoy and found the other in the same confusion. "Protect young Malfoy," Dumbledore said finally, "Be there for him, make sure he does not harm any students, including himself, become what he has never had."

Harry and Malfoy's jaws both dropped, and they were both suddenly on their feet, speaking in quick bursts, each tripping over the other's words.

"Professor!? I-" Harry started, Malfoy cut in angrily.

"I am not just some-"

"He doesn't-"

"Potter!? Are you out of your-"

"I have homework, classes, Quidditch! I can't babysit-"

"I don't need a babysitter, or your help Potter!"

"He doesn't want me near him!" Harry yelled and locked eyes with Malfoy, banging his fist on the desk and unsettling a paperweight, which consequently growled, blew a breath of fire that scorched Harry's already-injured hand, and turned onto his back to have his tummy rubbed by Dumbledore. At the outburst, Malfoy quieted and dropped his gaze to stare at a spot on the floor. Harry winced and rubbed his hand, plunking himself back into his chair. Perhaps he still hadn't recovered from the day before, he felt drained.

"If you are both through," Dumbledore looked at both of them. When neither made any comment, he nodded, "You can start by giving each other the respect of a first-name basis." He looked at them expectantly, "Go on, introduce yourself."

Harry cast a withering glare at Malfoy, then looked back at Dumbledore pleadingly. The Headmaster had become enamored with the disturbed paperweight and would not catch his eye. He slouched back in his chair and turned to Malfoy, "Draco."

The name had startling effects on the boy. He tried to suppress a jump, and he paled even more. His bottom lip went under, as he bit it unconsciously. And then, without moving his head to look at the other, he murmured, "Harry."

Harry was surprised at the effect his own name had on him. Hearing it was a sort of triumph, mixed with a faint undertone of something else...

Dumbledore smiled imperceptibly and turned his attention back to them, "Now then, Harry, I feel there is something I must tell you if you are to fulfill your charge completely. Draco is the victim of a terrible curse."

At this, Malfoy stood up and snarled at the Headmaster, "Professor, I must protest. That is private information, and no other student is licensed to learn it."

"Information we come across is only private if it does not harm anyone," the professor shot back in his easy tone. Dismissing Malfoy to his seat, he turned back to Harry, "It is a curse of the Dark Arts, obviously, with dreadful consequences. The design is to turn the bearer into a mindless minion, with no feelings, thoughts, or soul. A sensor of death, so to speak, for the minion is the perfect killing machine- as there is no connection to the world."

Harry tried vainly to keep his shock under control. He could see Malfoy out of the corner of his eye, sulking that artistic sulk. In the little time they had spent together, Harry had come to realize that any pose Malfoy took looked as if it was sculpted from stone by the ancient artists of Greece and Rome. Now, he was learning that Malfoy's entire being was a Greek tragedy. Who was doing this to Malfoy? To destroy a boy's life!? He could feel blood draining from his face as he thought about it. Everybody should feel. Everybody should have the joy of loving people, of sadness, of hurt. It was natural.

The more he thought about it, the more determined he was to help Malfoy, even if the boy wouldn't accept it.

"And with that said," Dumbledore sat back in his chair, "You may return to the Infirmary. Go on, off with you." The chairs in which they sat jumped, and Harry and Malfoy were jerked to their feet. Harry trudged from the room, followed by an equally perturbed Malfoy. The Boy Who Lived felt his determination slipping away as the walk back to the Infirm stretched on in silence. How could Dumbledore possibly think Harry Potter could help Malfoy? It was as ridiculous as Snape coming to the aid of Neville. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were content to remain enemies; there was nothing they wanted to change.

No, that was wrong. Harry slowed his walk as he realized... he didn't care to be enemies anymore. Of course, he didn't put his expectations as high as friends, but he hoped they could become civil to each other. The only enemy he could handle was Voldemort, and **_he_** was more enemy than any person needed. Harry made an odd face and cocked an eyebrow at his thoughts. When had he started thinking that? Was he going mad?

Malfoy noticed Harry slowing and turned, "What's the matter, Potter? Picturing Weasel in the bath?"

Harry, too exhausted by now to start a fight, picked up his pace and walked right past Malfoy, cheerily smiling, "Yes," and left Malfoy stunned in the corridor.


	6. Chapter Five

That day, Ron came by to visit Harry, and apologized for being a git. Harry knew that Malfoy was eavesdropping, so he kept their conversation short, and discussed only school. When Ron left, the Infirmary closed for the night, leaving Harry and Malfoy alone together separated by only a curtain.

Harry jumped from his bed and tore the fabric back, staring at Malfoy thoughtfully, "Oy, Malfoy."

"What do you want Potter? I didn't steal your teddy bear, it was probably Finnigin three beds down."

The Gryffindor heaved a sigh, then gathered his patience. "I was wondering. **_Why_** do you hate me so much?"

Put so bluntly, Malfoy burst into laughter. It wasn't a mirthful laugh, however, as laughing should be. It was cold, calculating, manipulative. He was thinking of the ways he could twist the situation to his advantage, and Harry could see the wheels spinning in the white-blonde head of his. "Why?" he spat, "Why? You're asking me why I hate you?"

Harry could do nothing but nod, his hand lingering on the curtain that separated their beds.

"You are **_Harry Potter_**," Malfoy sneered, "You destroyed my family. My father had to go to trial, and nearly lost everything. Father does not rest at night until I owl him ever day with something in which I bested you. I'm constantly compared to the great Harry Potter in my own household, just because we happen to be in the same year. Your name alone is enough to make me retch."

The color dropped from Harry's face as he spoke the words. His mouth hung open slightly, in a desperate attempt to somehow make this hate go away. He had never known... All the years spent in Hogwarts, and he had never known that other people suffered because he was Harry Potter. Being a hero came with the name, he had saved the school many times over, but now he realized that the school didn't include individuals. Single people, like Malfoy, still suffered, even when the school was saved. It shocked him, and he took a step backwards into his own space.

"Looks like you're not such a hero, Potter," Malfoy's voice seemed to stretch over a great distance, "You can't rescue everyone."

......

Draco watched as Potter backed away and nearly stumbled onto his bed. It was almost amusing the effect his words had. The boy had dropped color faster than when the dementors had attacked, and his green eyes had grown large behind his glasses. It was as if Draco had sucker punched him.

To himself, he felt a tinge of pleasure. He was still able to hit where it hurt, and to make Harry Potter come up short of breath. He also felt relieved, that he wasn't turning into a complete softy as a result of all the 'quality time' with Potter. He still could reap enjoyment from tormenting people, and he knew now he was tormenting Potter. A nasty smirk crept into his lips as he realized he had efficiently crushed Potter's view on the victories he had earned. While he had no idea what exactly went on in that thick head of Potter's, he had a vague idea that all the glory of being a hero had been sufficiently smashed.

Lying back, content with that knowledge, Draco closed his eyes and stretched his arms over his head, locking his arms together at the wrists comfortably on his pillow. He settled in and fell quickly asleep.

......

The night had fallen, and fallen hard on the Infirmary when Harry awoke. He had managed a short nap before his body decided that he had gotten enough sleep and he came awake fully alert and ready to move somewhere. He was itchy, and would have gladly played a full game of Quidditch if it got him out of this bed.

He stood up, tossing off the covers of his bed rather unceremoniously, letting the tips of the blankets drag on the floor, and noticed Malfoy's bed. He blinked, as if surprised to see it there, sitting, inside his privacy curtains. Then, he recalled the conversation before he had slept. With a resounding crash, his mood deflated, leaving him with nothing except an immense sorrow.

As he tried to fight the stinging sensation in his eyes, he moved forward. Malfoy was asleep; his arms cocked at an odd angle above his head, soft white-blonde hair falling softly around his eternally guarded face. Even in sleep, he looked as if someone was chasing him, he was paranoid and had to run and constantly watch his back. Even in sleep he was untouchable, unreachable, cut off from Harry.

Harry stretched out and carefully brushed his fingers over Malfoy's forehead, catching a few of those silvery strands and urging them gently aside. He tried not to shiver at the feel of Malfoy's unnaturally cold skin, and trailed his hand down the pale cheek. "I'm sorry," he whispered, even though he knew Malfoy was asleep and could not hear, "I'm sorry... I never knew, I couldn't do anything for you..." He took a shuddering breath, willing himself to remain calm and not break down. He couldn't believe that again, here he stood, mourning his long-time rival. It just didn't seem fair. Rivals were people to be hated, not empathized with. He wasn't supposed to soften towards his rival, that was not the point of a rival. And yet he was, he was feeling sorrow for the pain of the sleeping boy, as a lone tear streaked down Harry's cheek. He did feel for Malfoy, even if the boy was a ridiculous prat. He was still human, and with humanity came suffering.

"If I hadn't been born," he knelt by the bed; his tear-sparked green eyes on the sleeping figure, "Would you have been better off? Am I the reason for your curse as well...?" He bent his head and allowed his shoulders to shake with a repressed sob, "I-I didn't know people suffered because of me." Voldemort tortured people, Harry didn't. Voldemort was the villain, Harry the hero. So why was someone in pain because of him!? A hero saved everyone, made everyone happy. The villain was the one who tortured people, who brought pain and suffering.

Was he a hero, or was he a villain?

......

From an uneasy slumber, Draco managed to pull himself awake. He had caught all of two hours of sleep since that time, and didn't feel a bit tired. He looked at the sleeping figure beside him and sighed. It seemed to be a repeating event to find Potter asleep on his mattress, his gangly legs stretched all over the floor in an attempt to get comfortable.

If the stupid git had been a bit more observant, he would have seen that Draco had been awake during his little soul-searching drama. Draco nearly groaned remembering it. Every choked sob had struck under his skin, sending an unknown reaction to his mind; until all he had wanted to do was open his eyes and make Potter take his pity-party somewhere else. Draco didn't need to hear it; he didn't want to hear it. It stirred something inside of him that he did not care to explore, and so he ignored it, pushing it deeper into his soul, until sleep had claimed him again.

Now, he sat up and raised his wand to the sleeping boy, "_Wingardium leviosa_." Potter drifted peacefully into his own bed, not even stirring at the motion. Draco rolled his eyes, "Like a baby."

The curtains around their beds pulled back slowly, and Madame Pomfrey's beady eyes glittered in the dark like two gems on a black cloak. "Mr. Malfoy, are you fully awake?" she whispered.

"Yes."

"Oh, good," she pulled the curtains further back, revealing a scowling figure in the darkness behind her. Professor Snape stood sullenly, as if disgruntled at having his sleep interrupted by such trivial matters. "Professor Snape has put together a small potion for you to take."

"Mr. Malfoy," Snape intoned as a matter of greeting. He held a vial out, no bigger than a shot glass, and continued, "This will keep the cold from becoming intolerable. You must take it once a week, until we determine the exact removal of your particular curse. If you do not take it, the symptoms will return more severely than before."

Draco took the bottle, trying to keep his hands from shaking. Madame Pomfrey quickly looked him over, and put a hand to his forehead. She shuddered visibly and pulled her hand away, muttering, "You should take that." Draco cast her a withering glare and opened the vial, tipping a bit onto his tongue. It tasted sour, almost lemony, and left an odd aftertaste. He wasn't sure if he liked it or not, and he didn't have time to think about it as Madame Pomfrey noticed Potter, "How is he?"

The Slytherin head of house sniffed unconcernedly while Draco shrugged. The nurse moved to Potter's bed and eased the boy under the covers. If she noticed the tearstains on his cheeks, she said nothing, but removed his glasses and placed them on the nightstand that separated their beds. She moved to the edge of the curtains, and turned to Draco, "Get some sleep. You're both going back to class tomorrow." With that said, she closed the curtains around them and left Draco to himself in the darkness.

......

Nearly a week later, Harry and Ron walked away from Divination with grins on their faces.

"I wish we could just get our grades and be done with the class," grumbled Ron, his eyelashes and bangs still damp from the steam they had tried to read. "It is a marvelous waste of time."

Harry was busy scrubbing his glasses in the edge of his shirt. When he was through, he placed them on his nose and blinked, "A good class to catch up on sleep, I for one am glad it's still on our roster."

Ron nodded, "True. But it's so boring. As long as one of us predicts the other's death, we're passing." The light tone did nothing for the statement. Harry glanced at Ron, and they both quickly dropped their gazes. Death was a forbidden subject for them now, and their conversations skirted dangerously around the topic often, while never touching it. Only on rare occasions did the two feel completely at ease enough to joke about death, but the mood was quickly broken when Hermione didn't say anything in reply.

A shaft of sunlight caught his eye, causing Harry to wince. When the light cleared, he shook his head from the ache that had crept in. He wondered vaguely how Malfoy was doing. It had been a week since they had been let out of the Infirm, and absolutely nothing had changed. Malfoy still loathed him with a passion, but Harry found himself not willing to fight anymore. It was as if he felt for Malfoy, though Malfoy was still untouchable.

Harry slowed his walk, deep in thought. He hadn't seen Malfoy at all today, even though they had class with Slytherin two slots before. Come to think of it, Malfoy had been looking peaked all yesterday, as if he was ill. He turned to Ron carefully, "Wonder were ferret boy has got to."

The redhead scowled, "Does it matter? He's not here, and that's the good thing and the only thing I'm worried about." Harry decided to stop, as Ron had a short fuse when it came to Malfoy. They rounded a corner, and what he saw made Harry freeze. A boy was swaying unsteadily along the wall, holding one or two textbooks and a few notebooks. The hair immediately gave away the identity, and Harry squinted at Malfoy. Something wasn't right...

......

Merlin the pain... An icy fire, arching through his stomach, and raking his arms with splintering fingers. All he could see was black, there was no light. No light, not even a speck of the fire that torched him. It was cold, Merlin it was cold. Breathtaking shivers ran across his body, contracting his lungs and making it hard to get air. The air he could inhale was stale, filled with the toxic scent of fear. A cold sheen of sweat brushed his head, frosty against already chilled skin. He thought he heard someone yelling something that sounded like his name, but it was so far away...

He barely felt his legs collapse under him, the shock of his knees connecting hard with the rock floor of the school. Suddenly, the pain in his arm flared, eliciting a moan of pain from dry lips. He clamped his other hand on the spot, gritting his teeth and nearly biting his tongue. Slumping against the wall, he bent over the arm, digging his fingers into his skin. If only he could pull it off, make the pain stop.

A brief sensation of warmth encircled him, a voice breathing desperately into his ear, a hand prying his away from the aching arm.

"Draco, you're hurting yourself!"

The hand grasped his tightly, not flinching away from the cold of his palm or the firmness of his grip. Slowly, ever so slowly, the pain ebbed. The darkness cleared and he could see blobs of color. Blessed color. The blobs straightened, grew into shapes, and finally solids. Two green orbs stared at him anxiously from behind thick glasses.

Potter.

Draco moaned and closed his eyes. He didn't need this. Anything was better than this, being seen weak in his enemy's arms. He let go, and slid into a pleasant darkness.

......

As he watched in utter amazement, Harry darted forward and quickly scooped Malfoy into his arms as if they had practiced it for years. The Slytherin boy became limp under Harry's touch, and the brunette hovered over the other as a mother hen. It was wrong. Suddenly, as if a devil and an angel had kissed, Ron felt the creeping fingers of disbelief edge into his heart. How could Harry do this to him!? What was he doing with **_him_**? The monster who had killed Hermione as surely as if he had held the wand.

"Harry..." Ron squeaked, all of a sudden unsure of his voice, "What are you doing?"

The boy looked up, as if caught red-handed, his eyes widening behind his glasses. "What?"

"What are you doing?" betrayal was slowly giving way to anger, and Ron took a step forward.

Harry looked between his best friend and their hated rival, closed his eyes, and sighed heavily, "Ron, I can explain-"

"Explain what," Ron burst out, his cheeks turning a bright shade of red, "That now you're buddy-buddy with the ferret?"

The look on Harry's face almost made him regret his tone. Almost.

"Ron, now is not the time," Harry grit his teeth, "He needs to be taken to the Infirm, Madame Pomfrey is the only one who knows how to treat him." Then, with Ron watching, Harry bent over Malfoy and soothed his hair away from his face to check his temperature and breathing. 'Soothe' could be the only appropriate word, for Harry moved with a tenderness that Ron had never seen before, even when dealing with his best friends.

The Gryffindor stood, and levitated Malfoy with his wand and made to pass Ron on his was to the Hospital Wing. Ron could feel his control slowly sliding away from him, as he threatened, "If you walk away with him, we're done. I won't ever speak to you again."

Harry froze, his face a mix of unspeakable, untouched emotions. His wand hand wavered, but he refused to let Malfoy fall. When he spoke, his voice was shaky and cracked, "He needs me."

"I need you," the words fell out before he could stop them, but they were true on so many levels. After Hermione, Harry was the only thing he had left. In a world where he was constantly hunted for being Harry Potter's best friend, Harry was the one person he could hold onto, could trust in, could fall back on. He had been so sure that Harry could come to him with anything, that Harry had relied on him as much as he relied on Harry. But now...

Harry had placed Malfoy on the floor, and now shifted uncomfortably, "Ron... I can't just leave him here." His eyes flitted again between the unconscious boy in his arms and his best friend.

"Call a teacher, let them take care of him if you're that worried," Ron scowled, stepping forward again. Was it just him, or did Harry's hands clench tighter to Malfoy at the movement? "I don't see why you would be," he finally spat, "That thing's master killed Hermione." Harry flinched visibly, and Ron tried to soften his words to get his meaning across, "I lost Hermione, I don't want to lose you." Harry looked at him sadly.

At that moment, Malfoy groaned painfully and stirred, drawing Harry's attention and boiling Ron's fury. Still, Harry's panicked face again managed to cool the redhead's rage. Harry was Harry; there was nothing Ron could do about it. Harry lived to help people, to protect those who didn't know they needed protection, to help those who wouldn't help themselves. "Why?" Ron asked, catching Harry's attention from his burden, "How do you know it's not a ploy?"

He could tell Harry had not thought about this. The boy paled and flicked his gaze to Malfoy's chalky face. He groaned inwardly as Harry opened his mouth, "I-I hadn't thought about that..."

"You don't **_think_**!" Ron yelled, "You jump in assuming you can save anybody just because you're the great Harry Potter! Some people don't want to be saved!"

His words hit hard, the other dropped pallor again and his face began to twist in fury, "We have to do something. You can't just sit by and watch as one of your classmates is tortured."

"How can we know that we can trust him!?" Ron yelled, "He's been a bloody bastard to us through seven years of school! What reason do we have to trust him?"

"Can't you trust **_me_**!?" Harry yelled, aware that a crowd was gathering but not really caring.

"I do!" Ron shot back, "I trust you! But he... he's evil!"

"He's suffering!" Harry shouted, gripping Malfoy's hand with bruising strength.

"If he is he deserves it," Ron hissed, "For whatever the evil little git has done."

"NO!" Harry's voice echoed in the hall, causing the spectators to wince and cover their ears, "No! Nobody deserves to suffer! Nobody is obligated to feel pain! The only one who should be suffering is Voldemort, because he is causing this! He's causing all of this!" Ron cringed at the mention of Voldemort, and attempted to break in, but Harry continued, "You weren't there! You didn't see it! You didn't hear how he scre-" Harry suddenly broke off, clenching his jaw tightly shut. He stood up and levitated Malfoy past Ron, trotting to the Infirmary as fast as he could with Malfoy in front of him.

Ron stared after him, knowing somehow that Harry's new attitude was related to what had happened in the Forbidden Forest a few weeks ago. Something had happened, something that had affected Harry greatly. Tossing away his earlier threats, Ron jogged after Harry, intent on being a good best friend. Even best friends fought occasionally...


	7. Chapter Six

The Infirmary was quiet as ever, with only the occasional rustle of fabric against fabric or the soft flutter of a breeze through the open windows. Harry stood over Malfoy's bed, just as quiet as the unconscious boy, though more animate.

He didn't understand. Ron didn't know what he was talking about. Harry crossed his arms over his chest tightly, attempting to sort through his thoughts. Ron hadn't been there. He didn't understand.

There had been a time when Harry would have told Ron everything that had happened, down to his theories on the why. This time, however, it had seemed so private that Harry hadn't said anything. It was between him and Malfoy, not Ron, him and Malfoy. Adding a third wheel would have put Malfoy beyond trust, and therefore beyond help. Harry had to keep Ron away, and in the dark. It was for Malfoy's good, and Ron didn't really need to know anything about the Slytherin.

A wave of sadness hit Harry, as he realized that Ron would probably never speak to him again. He could already feel the tangible ache in his chest at the loss of another friend, and, for a moment, he envied Malfoy. The icy façade Malfoy kept up pushed away any friends, and Malfoy would never know the bitter essence of betrayal or the sour taste of loneliness. Harry himself could touch each with the tip of his tongue now, as he forced the previous argument through his head again and again.

Arms grabbed at him from behind, and Harry was so startled he nearly bit his tongue. Before he could react, a chin rested on his shoulder and a voice breathed in his ear, "I'm sorry."

Harry immediately relaxed at Ron's voice, "Don't do that. You scared me to death."

"Sorry," Ron turned his head to stare at Malfoy, keeping his chin on Harry's shoulder, "I don't understand why you want to help the selfish prat, but I trust you." His grip became tighter, but Harry didn't care. Ron was still his friend, and that was all that mattered.

"Touching," drawled a voice, "I think I'm going to hurl."

Harry scowled at Malfoy, "Just because you don't have friends doesn't give you the right to diss mine." From the bed, Malfoy pursed his slender brows at the boy, but refrained from saying anything else.

"Malfoy," Ron spoke up, giving Malfoy so horrid a glare that Harry was grateful Ron was his friend, "If you lay a finger on Harry, you won't have time to think before you're shipped off to dear old dad in a matchbox." Harry grinned at Ron's imagery, he had been getting better over the years, and could now threaten Malfoy easily and quickly.

Malfoy, however, was up to the challenge, as he spoke slowly and clearly, "I did not ask for help."

"Bloody good for you," Ron growled, casting Harry a pleading glance. Harry did nothing but shrug, there was nothing to say- it was true. Malfoy wouldn't ask for help, even if he admitted he needed it. He would suffer in silence to keep his pride intact, and that was why Harry intended to help him. Ron had turned back to Malfoy, "I'm tolerating you for Harry's sake. He's the only one I have left besides family."

"It appears he is only one of many, then," Malfoy smirked.

"At least my father loves me," Ron sneered.

The blonde shot up in bed so suddenly Harry took a step back into Ron who was just as startled. The look in Malfoy's eyes was of pure hatred, as soldering gray met startled blue. Harry felt Ron's breath catch as the two stared. "You would do well to hold your tongue," Malfoy's voice dripped slowly from his lips, a threat.

Harry loosed himself from Ron's hold and stepped forward, holding out his hands, "Ron, that wasn't fair."

The redhead's jaw dropped, "You're defending him!?"

The pain was evident in his voice, and Harry sighed, "I'm making sure you don't stoop to his level."

At this Ron seemed to agree, "Oh..."

......

They talked late into the night, before Harry finally sent Ron back to the Gryffindor common room with the Invisibility Cloak. Well, Harry and Ron talked. Draco drifted to and from sleep during the conversations, not partaking in any but listening all the same. He had never been near them during such talks. Harry and Ron were as one mind in two bodies. They even completed each other's sentences. Every time he awoke, Draco was hit with a pang that he could not place. He wondered about it, and with his eyes closed against their faces, silently asked if anyone would do that for him. Would anyone bear his presence long enough to become a friend as Ron and Harry?

The answer was obvious. A rather large no. He was a bastard; it was as simple as that. There was no one in the entire school who could put up with him for more than a few minutes, except Crabbe and Goyle. Those two didn't really count, however, as their intelligence level was that of a broken record player.

Draco came awake again, to hear the conversation above him had quieted. The serenity of the Infirmary was in place instead, a sort of noiseless noise that created a tingle in the ears just as any other sound. He flicked his eyes open, relieved to find that Weasel had gone.

"How do you feel?"

The soft voice drifted to his ears, and he turned his head to the source. Potter was there again, although this time he sat in a chair beside his bed. "Chipper, Potter, that is, until I saw your face," he sighed. Why did Potter insist on staying around him!? As if things weren't already hard enough, that Muggle-loving Headmaster had to throw a Dwarf wrench into the entire scenario. His father would not be pleased, not be pleased at all.

"I'm sorry," Potter grew a delicious shade of red, a sort of color between embarrassment and anger. "Why don't I just jump out a window?"

"Go ahead, I'm not stopping you."

Instead of performing the so desired action, Potter just sat there staring at him. Suddenly, out of the blue, "What do you want to do when you get out of here?"

Draco goggled at him. He sat up so that he could get a better look, and goggled some more.

"I mean, besides being a minion for the Dark Lord," Potter continued, obviously not knowing when to stop.

"Are you for real?" Draco blurted. Potter looked startled.

"I-I think so. You're not dreaming, if that's what you mean," his head cocked, dragging strands of dark hair over his eyes. He ignored them, as if he was used to the unruliness.

"Could you say that again?" Draco asked cautiously, still not sure if he had heard right.

"I just asked what you wanted to do when you finish school!" Potter groaned, "Is that such an odd question?"

Draco sat up, bringing himself eye level to Potter, "Let me remind you, Potter, that we are still not on a first name basis no matter what the Professor made us do in his office." Potter slammed back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest sullenly. He held fists of fabric in each hand, his overly large shirt exposing his right collarbone nearly to the shoulder.

"This is why you don't have friends, Draco," Potter frowned, glaring at Draco with unnerving fierceness. "You don't let anyone close to you. You'd rather keep them away, so that you can live in solitude for the remainder of your sad life of worship to Voldemort." Draco couldn't suppress his flinch at the name, and he was sure Potter noticed. When he didn't say anything, Draco glared back at the other.

"Why do you want to know what I do with my life?"

The Boy Who Lived threw up his arms in frustration, "I'm just curious, that's all. Why are you so damn stubborn? Telling me won't kill you, will it?"

No, it wouldn't, Draco thought. He shook his head, "I haven't really thought about it."

"You just do whatever your father tells you to."

Leave it to Potter to make it sound disgusting. Draco glared at the other, matching the heat in the green orbs, "Why shouldn't I?"

"You don't have a mind of your own? You need your father to tell you what to do, where to go, who to kill?" Potter shot, as he leaned forward in his chair.

Draco bristled, well aware that Potter was trying to egg him, to get him angry, "Just let it alone, Potter."

Potter sat back in surprise, and blinked hard a couple times, "Is it that bad? I really don't care if you're an ax murderer, as long as it's your will and not your father's."

Unwillingly, a snort came from Draco's throat, "An ax murderer? One of your Muggle terms I assume?"

"You have axes in this world," Potter said, "You put two and two together." A silence fell over them, as if it was a test of endurance, which would hold the stare the longest. Finally, Potter reverted back to the old topic, "So, what is it?"

"What's what?" Draco suppressed a smile, knowing that he was now aggravating Potter. The other fell back against his chair and groaned, removing his glasses to rub a weary hand over his eyes. And then, suddenly, Potter shot forward onto his knees by Draco's bed, bringing him uncomfortably close to the Slytherin. Draco jumped, but held his position. He would not show that the other intimidated him. It was still a game, who could best who in a battle of wits. Who could hold out longer, Draco or Potter?

Yet, as he stared at the determined boy in front of him, he cursed Gryffindor stubbornness, for it constantly bested Slytherin's. Potter glared at him with ferocity, as if he was willing Draco with his mind to reveal what he sought. Draco noticed with a start that Potter's eyes were flecked with brown, and his expression must have registered in Potter's eyes, or Potter had noticed something about him for the boy's eyebrows narrowed every so slightly.

Draco sighed, "Fine, _fine_. I..." He sat back, ready to be out of Potter's piercing gaze, "I want to visit the Muggle world, it's absolutely beyond me how they get by without magic."

Potter's eyes widened, "The... But your father would kill you!"

The Slytherin put his drawl back in his speech, "No really, thanks for the great enlightenment. Come, come, give me another." When Potter said nothing, but scowled at him, Draco continued, "Besides, I don't think you'll be telling him anytime soon, as we're in school."

Potter's eyes suddenly widened, and he stared at Draco incredulously. For a moment Draco was confused, but then he realized the weight of what he had just said.

He had given his trust to Harry Potter.

Eyes narrowed as color dropped from his face. In all his years, he had never trusted anyone. It was his father's number one rule. Among the Death Eaters, trust was as good as a death warrant. Somehow, unwittingly, Draco had given something that should never have been given.

This was a bad idea, a very, _very_ bad idea.

Potter smiled. Draco felt his panic rising. The stupid Gryffindor didn't realize the danger he was in. "My father will kill me," he paused, trying frantically to get his thoughts in order, "No, he'll kill you. You're the one he's after." There was a strange tugging in his gut, a heated, tingling feeling he was quite unused to. He wasn't sure if he liked it or not, but he knew it could only be a result of the way Potter was looking at him.

Whether or not he wanted to keep feeling this way, he knew where his fear was founded. In his mind's eye, he could see Potter's very presence as a tiny candle in a suffocating darkness. Despite everything his father had ever taught him, Draco wanted to keep that flame burning, he wanted to keep it alive. And now, he didn't know how to do it besides getting Potter as far away from him as possible.

"Malfoy," Potter waved a hand in front of his face, "I'm the Boy Who Lived, remember? Voldemort has tried to whack me since I was born. I think I can handle your father." Draco flinched at the name, remembering how much pain it could physically bring him. "Besides, I thought you hated Muggles."

"I did," Draco scowled, reminded of the fascinating days that had changed his views, "Until I took that bloody Muggle Studies class."

"Your father let you take that?"

"No. He didn't know about it, and still doesn't know." With a start, Draco realized he had done it again. Divulged something that should never be spoken of. He resisted the urge to clap a hand over his mouth in frustration, and gripped his hands into fists on his sheets.

"I won't tell him," Potter grinned, shifting so the ground wasn't so hard on his knees.

Draco moved in his bed, giving some space for Potter to sit on. The brunette grinned wider and plopped himself onto the bed, "So, what changed your mind in the class?"

"The ridiculous destruction that the stupid monkeys cause," Draco rolled his eyes, "They're so stupid, I need to see them in their natural habitat." To his great shock, Potter started laughing. "Is it that amusing?"

"Just the way you say it," Potter smiled, his eyes sparkling merrily in the darkness, "You sound like you're so much better."

"I am," Draco sputtered, "I am a pure-blood wizard."

"If you tell that to them, they'll think you're loony," Potter stated.

"All right then," Draco frowned, "If you're so great, what do you want to do when you get out?"

"I want to be an Auror," Potter looked at the ceiling, his face taking on a star-struck look, "I want to save people, to help protect people."

"Big of you."

Potter shrugged, "We have our tastes." He glanced at Draco again, "You're shivering, are you cold?"

Draco grimaced, wondering why Potter had to notice everything, "No." A lie. He was freezing again, leftover from this morning's attack. Madame Pomfrey had given him the potion with a stern reproach, but he was still very cold. "Hey! Gerroff!" Potter pressed a warm hand to Draco's forehead, brushing away a few strands of silver before drawing back.

"You're still freezing."

"So?"

"Malfoy," Potter sighed, shaking his head, "Just admit you're cold."

Draco scoffed, "Why?"

A strange look crossed Potter's face, lighting his eyes in a way Draco was quite sure he didn't like. He inched back, trying to put distance between himself and the other. "Very well, Malfoy," he grinned evilly, "You leave me no choice." Before Draco could question, Potter launched himself at Draco, grabbing the Slytherin around the neck in a tight hold, pressing the warmth of his chest and arms into Draco. Taken completely by surprise, Draco drew his arms up, attempting to force Potter back. He got his hands into the space between himself and Potter and pushed hard, loosing Potter's grasp slightly. When he got no further, he gave up and reached around to try and pry Potter's grip open from the back. All the while he turned and kicked, keeping Potter moving and distracting him from his hold on Draco's neck.

Potter's chest spasmed suddenly, and Draco froze, wondering frantically if he had somehow hurt the other. Then, he realized that Potter was just laughing- chuckling and giggling at the awkward position they were in. Draco groaned and pulled hard at Potter's interlocked hands to no avail. He resorted finally to a trick, and gasped, "P-Potter... can't... breathe..."

The Gryffindor jerked back, his face pale. The look on his face was so horrified Draco couldn't help himself. Involuntarily, the corner of his mouth tweaked upwards in the semblance of a grin. Potter gasped indignantly, and instantly latched himself onto Draco's waist, "That was dirty."

"What are you, a leech!?" Draco yelled in frustration, though his voice held no malice. "You're acting like you're two years old."

Potter mumbled something into his shirt, the thin material letting the warmth of his breath through. "What? Potter, I can't hear you," the blonde couldn't suppress a shiver that hit him with the warmth.

"You smiled," Potter lifted his head to look up into cloud gray eyes. Draco looked back, wondering how a boy who had seen so much death could remain so innocent. He fell back against his pillow without replying, not sure that any reply was necessary. Potter, in a few short days of constant and undivided attention, had rendered him speechless. It was a feat that had not been achieved through years upon years of taunting, jibing, and fighting, and here he was after a few days, silent and dangerously close to enjoying Potter's company.

He became aware of Potter's finger tracing lazy circles around his stomach through fabric. Draco shifted uncomfortably, stretching his arms up above his head and crossing them at the wrists. Potter, sensing he wished to sleep, shifted with him, trying to get them both comfortable under the heavy comforter. They lay waiting for sleep, and, as Potter drifted off, he murmured, "I'll take you to London sometime... show you around..."

Draco started, wondering if Potter realized what he had said. Chances were that the boy was nearly completely asleep, and would forget in the morning. He decided to wait and see what happened, if Potter would remember the offer.

With a soft sigh of contentment, Potter snuggled close to Draco, and the blonde did all in his power not to disturb the boy by trying to writhe from his grasp. He felt like an overly large teddy bear, one that had been hugged once too many.

......

The first thing Harry noticed was a slight tingle of pain in his hands. He flexed them, figuring they had merely lost circulation during the night. It was then he realized his arms were touching each other, which wasn't right, because he clearly remembered the small scuffle with Malfoy last night. Or was it earlier this morning? It was still dark, but he wasn't quite sure when they had fallen asleep.

But now the bed was empty. Blearily, he opened his eyes and looked around. A figure moved in the darkness, stumbling unsteadily towards the door. The shock of white hair let Harry know who it was, and why his hands hurt. Malfoy must have pried his hands open to get out of his grasp. Ron had told him many times how tight his clutch was, especially during the nights Harry awoke from nightmares holding Ron's hand.

Harry sat up and rubbed his eyes with one hand, searching for his glasses with the other. He found the spectacles and slid them on, throwing the room into sharp focus. Malfoy was at the door, moving in slow deliberate movements as he turned the handle and opened it. Harry jumped from the bed and ran for the door as Malfoy started out into the hall. The Gryffindor leapt into the hall to follow, and collided with another person, slamming them both against the wall outside the Infirmary.

"Harry!" Ron's brilliant blue eyes shone in the dark, "Are you okay?"

Harry opened his mouth, "Yes, I'm fine. Why?"

Ron breathed out heavily, and put his hands on Harry's shoulders, "Something's wrong. Can't you feel it? Seamus and the rest woke up and they can't get back to sleep. We're all on the floor in the common room, nobody can sleep. I passed a Ravenclaw in the hall, they're up also." He glanced around, "The only thing is, none of the teachers are up. I made it down without any problem." He looked at Harry, "Are you sure you're okay?"

Putting a hand to his forehead, Harry answered, "My scar isn't hurting. I don't feel anything odd..." Then he remembered what had dragged him out of bed in the first place, "Malfoy! He's sleepwalking. We have to catch him!" He took off in the direction Malfoy had gone, and found following him very easy. Just two hallways down, Harry made it behind the Slytherin and was about to tap him when Ron stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Wait," Ron said, his hand painfully tight, "Let's see where he's going."

"Does is matter?" Harry hissed, eager to get Malfoy back into bed where he couldn't be harmed, in his arms.

"Just..." Ron trailed his eyes after the disappearing figure, "Let's follow him. I have a feeling..." With dread, Harry listened to his friend. Whatever Ron was feeling, Harry had a bad feeling about this particular adventure.

They trailed Malfoy through meters upon meters of dark, empty halls, not daring a light for fear of getting caught. They seemed to be constantly going down, down stairways, sloping corridors, and one time a ladder. At the bottom of the ladder, Harry dropped into about a foot of chilled water. With an echoing splash, Harry and Ron landed in the dungeons under the castle.

Unnerved by the squish of cold water in his slippers, Harry slid off the shoes and his socks and stepped along the slippery smooth stones at the bottom of the walkway. Ron followed his example, used to getting down and dirty from their many escapades. "This must be connected to the Chamber, somehow," Harry whispered, looking around.

"The water?" Ron murmured as Harry nodded. They looked up from their grumbling to see Malfoy had stopped. He stood with their back to them, staring into the darkness of the dungeon.

Harry stepped forward, "Malfoy?" He froze as Malfoy turned slowly, his head tilted with an almost lazy attitude. His molten gray eyes held no life, he was moving as a puppet on strings. Harry stepped forward, but Ron laid a restraining arm on his shoulder.

"Bad idea," Ron whispered urgently. His premonition was rewarded when Malfoy suddenly launched forward, moving with unnatural speed towards them. Ron reacted quickly, shoving Harry down and out of the way, only to find himself at the pointy end of Malfoy's wand.

Harry splashed into the water on his elbows and back, soaking his nightclothes and bringing water to his hair. "Ron!" he yelled, jerking up. Malfoy had disarmed Ron, and the redhead looked too frightened to move. "Malfoy, don't," Harry managed to croak. The silver blonde didn't appear to hear him, as intent as he was on Ron. The Slytherin jabbed his wand into Ron's solar plexus, and seemed content to leave it there until his job was complete.

Leaping up, Harry darted to the closest available part of Malfoy- his back. The Gryffindor threw his arms around Malfoy, pulling him close again his heart, "Please, Draco." He held tight, though Malfoy didn't seem to notice, "He's all I have. You can't... You have to fight!"

The wand tip sparked a horrid shade of green, and Harry's stomach leaped into his throat. Ron flinched, but Harry gasped, "Don't move!" Ron's eyes were wide in fright, but he obeyed his friend. "Draco, please!" Harry buried his head into Malfoy's back, "You can't give in! I have to take you to London!" Harry could feel the Malfoy's muscles tense, and the sound of a wand hitting water rang in the dungeon.

......

The only thing he noticed was how _un_cold it was. For the first time in weeks, he felt he was not shivering. He wasn't warm, per se, but the intense, racking shivering had stopped. The second thing was that he could not really see, and this almost frightened him, if not for the feeling of security in the oblivion. Here, nothing could hurt him. Voldemort could not reach him, his father could not touch him, Potter could not bother him.

He didn't know what exactly was happening, but he was fairly sure he was having a dream. It was the only reasonable explanation for the gray haze that had descended over his mind.

Somewhere, he could hear a voice. It sounded vaguely familiar, and slightly tinged with panic. It almost sounded like Potter. Why would Potter be panicked? Where was he? Why couldn't he see the prat?

A prickling sensation struck his arm, and suddenly it all fell into place. This was part of the curse. The curse that had been placed on him to break him. Hell if he was going to be broken in front of Potter. With achingly slow steps, he sought to push back the haze that surrounded his mind. It was like pushing through mud, yet mud was never this painful. The first thing that hit him was the cold. The rocking, breathtaking, mind-numbing cold that knocked him off his feet and shook the breath from his lungs. He would have fallen if someone had not been holding him up.

Something fell from his fingers, and he heard a splash as it hit water of some sort. His eyes took in colors, shapes, and finally cleared to reveal the pasty white face of Weasel.

Weasel? What was he doing here?

Warmth pressed against his back, countering the intense cold he had come back to. It was then he realized Potter was pressing himself against him, and the boy was shaking like a leaf. His arms wrapped tightly around Draco's chest, making it all the harder to get air but Draco was glad for the touch.

Weasel took a step backwards, sloshing water out of his way in the process. Draco looked between them, and saw his wand arm was ready, minus the wand. With a start, he guessed what must have happened. All strength left his legs, and he dropped hard to his knees into freezing water, dragging Potter with him.

He... He had nearly killed someone...

He had nearly killed a classmate.

He had nearly killed...

With a violent heave, Draco dry retched, clutching his stomach in pain. He found himself crushed against another, the comfort of warm arms encompassing him and chasing the cold away. The other breathed soothing words in his ear, pushing sweat-dampened hair from his eyes as he struggled to gain control of himself.

He had almost become a murderer.

Draco moaned and dropped his head down, still clutching his stomach, as Weasel plopped into the water beside them.


	8. Chapter Seven

They returned to the Infirmary, Harry half-carrying half-dragging a nearly unconscious Malfoy the length of the school. He had placed Malfoy in the bed, and Ron stood beside him now, glaring at him.

"I told you we couldn't trust him," the redhead hissed. Malfoy was asleep, but he didn't want to take any chances. "He tried to kill me."

"It wasn't him," Harry was too drained to get angry. All the worry, the anxiety, the danger had left him feeling worn out. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep for a few days.

"It certainly looked like him," Ron shot back.

Running a weary hand over his eyes, Harry sighed, "You don't understand-"

"Obviously!" Ron's near-death experience had done nothing for his temper, "What aren't you telling me!?"

With the most recent threat, Harry felt Ron deserved to know what afflicted Malfoy. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to let the Slytherin's secret out. It was too personal, and it would be adding salt to the wound to let Ron know. It was Malfoy's family; Malfoy should deal with it, not the Weasleys. Harry opened his mouth, but closed it, deciding Ron shouldn't learn of the curse yet. "I-I'm sorry, Ron," Harry murmured, "I can't tell you. It's Malfoy's problem."

Ron turned quite red in the face and jerked a finger at Harry, "You value that **_thing_** over your best friend's trust, fine." He turned and stormed out of the room, heading back to the common room.

As he looked at Malfoy, Harry found himself not worried about making up with Ron. He just hoped Ron would keep the night's incident to himself, instead of letting a teacher know what had occurred.

However, the anger that had radiated from Ron had not left the room, filling Harry with a sort of loneliness. He knew he couldn't run after the redhead to apologize, Ron would need at least a day to cool off. Harry turned his head to Malfoy's bed, and, noticing that the boy was shivering unconsciously, climbed carefully under the covers with him. He wrapped his lithe arms around the other boy's chest, and once again felt the aching cold that pervaded the Slytherin.

Harry ached too, but differently. His pain was not physical; it could not be touched or held like Malfoy's. His heart hurt. Hermione's death had left an open wound on his heart, and it still pained him to think of her or even mention her name. Sirius was dead, and Ron was mad with him. Malfoy was suffering, and Harry was sure that it was his fault. If he had never been born, perhaps these people would be happier. Perhaps they would have found better lives, living longer. Harry did his best to choke back a sob that threatened to release itself, but it fought its way to his lips.

At the noise and the shudder of Harry's chest, Malfoy stirred, "Merlin... why do you cry so much...?" His voice was muffled, as if he was waking from a deep slumber.

Harry froze, cursing himself for waking the other, "Sorry... I didn't mean to wake you..."

In slow, lazy motions, Malfoy turned onto his back within Harry's embrace, pressing himself hard against the Gryffindor. His hand moving lethargically, Malfoy reached over and carefully removed Harry's glasses, dropping them on the floor beside the bed, "Why do you care?"

A watery grin slowly spread across his face as Harry replied, "True. I should just let you suffer the light sleep of the cursed."

"You know..." Malfoy mumbled, his voice laden with sleep, "I'm going to start getting used to you being there... What are the girls going to think? I'll be **_labeled_**..." Despite his sorrow over Malfoy's pain, Harry couldn't suppress a smile at the thought of Malfoy being marked gay.

"Sorry," Harry smiled, brushing a few strands of hair from Malfoy's closed eyes. The boy was so exhausted. His brush with the curse had left him pale, much paler than normal, and his once vibrant hair was now dull, like tarnished silver, and stuck to his forehead with sweat. His slender body shook with chills, even as Harry crushed him to his own warmth. It wasn't enough. He didn't have enough strength to protect this boy, this one boy. He could save the school countless times, but he could do nothing to save one boy. "There has to be a counter-curse," Harry found himself whispering.

Malfoy stirred uneasily in his arms, "I've looked."

"Who put it on you? They must know the cure," Harry asked unthinkingly.

Malfoy tensed, coming more awake, "Does it matter?"

Harry sighed, and he rubbed a hand up and down Malfoy's arm, trying to warm them, "I just want to help you..." He received no reply as Malfoy stared into the darkness of the Infirmary, waiting for sleep to reclaim him.

......

The privacy curtains slid back without the slightest bit of noise, and Madame Pomfrey stared at the two tortured boys. They were so young to go through such agony. Growing pains were one thing, but having a devastating curse placed upon one when one was seventeen... It was horrid. Lucius should have stayed behind bars, where he belonged.

Young Malfoy had fallen asleep wrapped in Potter's arms, and even in repose the Gryffindor had a look of fierce determination over his charge. Ebony black hair mingled with silvery blonde as their heads touched ever so slightly on the pillow, causing Madame Pomfrey to smile. Just two months ago these boys had been enemies, and now they lay together- protector and protected.

A gentle hand on her shoulder startled her, and she turned quickly to find herself up against Snape's large nose. "Severus," she whispered as a greeting.

His distinctive drawl softened to a murmur as he looked at the two boys, "How is it coming?"

"Not well. The curse took hold of young Malfoy earlier but Potter managed to bring him out of it without hurting anyone."

Snape sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes, "The last time this cure was attempted, it failed miserably. We just can't be sure of what will happen with such powerful wizards."

"You must remember," Madame Pomfrey pointed out, "That Riddle did not wish heartily to be cured. If young Malfoy can destroy the evil in his heart, he will be cured. Riddle merely wished the pain would stop."

The Potions professor glanced at her, "Riddle was a powerful wizard. It was not whether he wanted it or not, his magic was a variable that cost us dearly."

"James was not strong enough," the nurse gently reminded, "He was torn between Lily and Riddle. Harry does not have that choice. The only other person who could have threatened his heart was the girl, Hermione Granger, but she was killed by Riddle's own hand."

With a curt nod, Snape conceded, "He must not know until the ritual. James knew, and we lost Riddle because of it. Potter must **_not_** find out what he must do."

"I have faith in Potter," Madame Pomfrey tilted her head up slightly as she looked at the sleeping boys, "As does Albus."

"That's what you said last time," Snape growled, his eyes shining on the boys, "I do not want to lose him. My godson will not be used as a pawn for Voldemort." The Potions professor took a step forward and soothed back Malfoy's bangs from his face. "He will not, as long as I am alive," Snape vowed.

......

It had been two days since they had been released from the Infirmary, and so far everything had gone back to normal. Potter stayed away from him, and he steered clear of Potter. It was as if nothing had changed, although sometimes, as they sat in class, he could swear those green eyes were pressing into his back. Yet, when he turned, Potter was looking at his book or the teacher. Perhaps it was all in his mind.

He slid off his school shirt, breaking into a new round of shivers as the cold dungeon air hit his skin. It was then he remembered the nights in the Infirmary, the warmth of Potter's arms, the feeling of comfort that meant more to him than the heat. Draco shook his head, trying to stop his runaway train of thought. If he didn't watch it, he would become dependant on the bloody Gryffindor.

He shimmied into his shirt, the coarse fabric of a Muggle sweatshirt scratching into his skin. Hopefully, it would be warmer than the robes he usually wore. As long as his classmates didn't see him, he was fine. The Slytherins weren't as averse to Voldemort as he was, and would not treat it well to see the most respected Slytherin wearing a Muggle shirt.

Draco slid under the covers of his bed, and then- it happened.

He shivered hard as he realized it.

The warmth that usually resided at his back was gone, and he missed it.

Cursing to make Satan cringe, he stood from his bed and threw on a cloak over his decidedly Muggle outfit. The chill had resided slightly, and he didn't shiver greatly as he walked from the common room at a trot. He didn't know where he was going, or why he was going, all he knew was that sleep was impossible at this moment.

He rounded a corner at a decent speed, and collided into another body. The two rolled over each other and ended up sprawled in the middle of the hall, a tangle of arms and legs.

"Ow. Ow!" Draco froze at a familiar voice.

He looked down to see a face with glasses askew, nose wrinkled in slight pain. "Potter!?" he gasped, not exactly sure how it had happened. All he knew was that he was lying atop a disgruntled Harry Potter in the middle of the night in a deserted hallway. How Potter had found him, he had no idea. The castle was enormous, and he was well outside the Slytherin jurisdiction.

"Malfoy! Gerroff!" Potter shoved at him hard, and Draco tumbled backwards onto the floor.

If he had known better, Draco would have recognized that the feeling pervading his mind was relief. Yet he didn't recognize it. All he knew was that something was happening in his mind, and it had to do with emotion. As he stared at Potter, the boy trying to fix his glasses in the darkness, he felt a growing resentment. Somehow, Potter had unlocked emotion within Draco.

Emotions were something Draco could live without. They were pesky, annoying, constantly misinterpreted, and better left to the romantics- namely Gryffindors.

"Potter, what are you doing out here?" Draco found words forming on his lips though he relished the silence.

"Couldn't sleep," the other mumbled, propping himself up against a wall. He gripped a shining fabric in his hands as if hell itself could not tear it from him. Draco scooted against the wall next to him, unconsciously touching shoulders with the boy.

This boy had made him feel. Somehow, in the few days they had spent together, Draco had started weighing the consequences of his actions, trying to decide if the curse was worth fighting. Potter released a sense of right and wrong into his mind that now confused him. All his life he had done what he wanted when he wanted, no questions asked. Now, it was not the case. Not only was his life in the balance, but the lives of classmates and countless, unknown Muggles. And the scary part was, he cared. Much as he didn't want to die, he didn't want completely innocent people to be killed because of him. It was Potter's doing, all of it.

A small prickling in his arm caught his attention, and he fingered the pale skin gingerly, drawing up his sleeve to look at it. The outline of the Dark Mark had grown darker, tracing a gray skull along his arm.

"Does your arm hurt?" before he could resist, Potter had reached over and jerked his arm closer.

"Let go Potter," Draco growled, reclaiming his arm and holding it close. To his ultimate shock, Potter did not look fazed by his tattoo. "Aren't you going to pale, flinch away, and curse me into oblivion?" Draco asked cautiously. Potter shook his head. "Why are you hanging around me? Why do you keep trying to help me? I'm not some abandoned puppy you can take home."

To this, Potter's jaw dropped. He seemed to think for a moment, though Draco knew this to be impossible, then grinned, "Because you're so cute."

Draco did not smile, "I'm being serious you prat."

Potter's face fell quickly, and he drew his knees to his chest, staring at the floor in front of them, "I-I never want to hear you scream like that... Like in the Forest... Never again..." A shudder took his frame as Draco stared at him. The Slytherin opened his mouth to say something, but Potter beat him to it, whipping his head up and glaring fiercely at him, "I **_will_** protect you."

Automatically, Draco started to protest, "I don't..." He paused, going through the events of the night that had led him here. He certainly couldn't protect himself, that much was evident when he had nearly killed Weasel. "Okay..." he breathed, greatly shocked at himself.

Potter blinked, his mouth hanging open, "W-What?"

Growing irritated at Potter's lack of gray matter, Draco frowned, "What, Potter, have you cotton in your ears or is your brain oozing out and blocking them?" Potter glowered indignantly, and pushed Draco's shoulder, knocking him off balance. Draco sat up and shook his head. He had gone alone for so long, all he needed was a safe place to stand, and if Potter could provide that for him willingly, then who was he to object. It would save his sanity, that was for sure.

A steady tapping had grown over the minutes, and Potter suddenly stiffened. Before Draco knew what had happened, Potter threw the shimmering fabric over them both and had slapped a hand over Draco's mouth. Draco resisted very much the urge to bite Potter's hand, and looked in amazement **_through_** the material of the cloak. It was an Invisibility Cloak. Where had Potter gotten his grubby hands on one of those!?

Putting the questions aside, he watched as Professors Snape and Dumbledore walked frantically down the hall. Snape hissed in displeasure, looking at the Headmaster in annoyance, "Why is he coming **_now_**?"

Dumbledore looked more agitated than Draco had ever seen, and from the way Potter fidgeted, Potter had never seen him so irritated either. "He demands to see his child. Legally I cannot stop him."

In that moment, Draco knew whom they were talking about. His father had come to fetch him.

Snape stopped walking, and stomped the ground with his foot. Draco felt Potter shake with a suppressed chuckle at the tantrum-like action. "It's one in the morning, Headmaster, surely there's rules!?"

The Headmaster ignored the Head of House and said instead, "Wake both boys and bring them to my office." He paused suddenly, and looked around. "Mr. Potter, do come out. It's impolite to spy."

Grumbling, Potter threw off the Cloak and stood. "If you would," Dumbledore grinned, "follow me please."

Potter glanced over at Draco to find the boy very, very pale.

......

Harry discovered the reason when he opened the door to Dumbledore's office. Lucius Malfoy stood in the room, fingering the irritable paperweight that had scorched Harry's hand a few days ago.

"Delightful trinkets you have, Headmaster," Lucius turned to watch the party come in. Harry was first, casting a look so hateful Lucius had to smile. Harry made sure to place himself in between Malfoy and Lucius as they stood in the room. Harry noticed Malfoy tugging at his robes a bit, trying to cover what he wore underneath. Dumbledore came in, followed by Professor Snape.

"Draco, how wonderful to see you are well," Lucius nodded to his son, "How are your studies?"

"Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore cut in, "If that is all you wish to discuss, I'm afraid you will have to owl your son or wait until break. Bringing these boys out of bed at this hour is disastrous to their studies."

At this, Lucius looked lazily amused, "I do not recall sending for young Potter." Harry received a look that chilled him, but he could feel Malfoy shrink even further from his father though nobody else noticed it.

"Coincidently, Headmaster," Lucius drawled slowly, "His scores are not the only thing I am here to discuss. May I have a word in private with him?"

"Certainly, certainly," Dumbledore scuttled to the door, shooing Snape out before him. Before they left, the Headmaster cast a glance at Harry that clearly said something. Harry was to stay and make sure Malfoy got out of the room alive and in one piece.

The office door closed, and Harry had not moved. Lucius was looking at him expectantly. "I'm staying here," Harry clarified. His anger was slowly building against the man before him. The man who brought pain to so many people years before. The man who should have stayed in Azkaban, but had been released after a short three months by Voldemort. The man who tortured the boy behind him.

"Is this what you have become, Draco," Lucius spoke softly, with a deadly tinge in his voice, "A spineless coward who hides behind Harry Potter?"

"This isn't his choice," Harry growled, "It's mine. I choose to stand between you and him. He didn't ask me to." In a motion too fast to see, Lucius brought up his walking cane and sent the end crashing into Harry's head. Stars exploded before his eyes as he spun and hit the ground hard on his knees and elbows. He groaned, blinking away the dots and lines that crossed his vision. Something warm started down his cheek, and his glasses had been knocked clean off.

Behind him, Malfoy stood still, gritting his teeth and clenching his hands into tight fists at his side. Harry worked to get to his feet using Dumbledore's desk as a brace as Lucius moved to Malfoy. The man took the cane and held it to Malfoy's chin, pushing his face up, "They will try to save you. They will fail." He paused, and his thin lips curved into an ugly sneer as Harry watched, "You feel it, don't you? The icy fingers of the curse gripping your mind. Soon, your world will grow dark, and you will feel nothing-"

"Stop IT!" Harry launched himself at Lucius, knocking the older man away with enough force to send him stumbling but not falling. Harry found himself in a position he had never even dreamed of a few weeks before. His wand was at the ready, his arm trembling with anger and fear for the younger Malfoy. Taking a deep breath lest he do something incredibly stupid, he exhaled with a tremor, "Leave. Now."

"Do not order me, boy," Lucius had regained his composure, and was giving off a cool fury that, in any other circumstance, Harry would have cringed away from. But not now. Now he was the only thing between Malfoy and his father. "He may be your pet, but he is still my son."

"I treat him as a human," Harry spat, his anger increasing that this thing would dare call himself a father, "He's just an object to you. You put the curse on him, didn't you?" All this time, Malfoy's gray eyes flicked back and forth between the two, and he felt a gnawing at his gut that he recognized as fear for Harry.

"He will be powerful," Lucius moved with the slickness of a snake, his motions lazy and deadly all at once as he walked towards them, "As the Dark Lord."

"NO!" Harry yelled, stomping his foot and holding his wand steady, "I won't let you **_use_** him!"

"Headmaster," Dumbledore just walked into the room, their allotted time used up, and Lucius turned to him, "I will be removing Draco from the school. This school is run by Muggle-lovers, and he will not receive a proper wizard's education here."

Harry could feel Malfoy's shock as clearly as his own. Both their jaws dropped, but Harry spoke, "Transferring him!? It's seventh year! School's almost over!"

The look on the older Malfoy's face was unrelenting. "Come, Draco," he spoke with the air of victory, "I'm taking you home. A house elf has your things ready." Malfoy cast a pleading look at Harry, but Harry was powerless as Lucius grabbed the boy by the arm and hauled him bodily from the room into the hall.

Harry ran after them as soon as his legs could work, and he moaned to Dumbledore, "Stop him! Can't you do something!?" He looked to Dumbledore, his green eyes full of anguish. He had failed his charge, and it hurt as surely as if he had handed Malfoy over.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Dumbledore's voice was soft, reassuring, "I cannot. Legally he is allowed to take his child out of the school."

"NO!" Harry slammed a fist into the wall, not even flinching at the pain. He pressed his forehead to the cold stone and pounded the wall again and again, "No, no, no, no!" Groaning at his failure, he slid down the wall and curled at the bottom, barely feeling Dumbledore's hand on his head. When he looked up, Draco and his father had disappeared.


	9. Chapter Eight

The smell of hay and owls drifted lazily, as heavy as his heart. Harry moaned again and covered his face with his hands. A small barn owl kept trying to get his attention, but he was not in the mood. The night was high, or rather, the morning was early, and he had run to the Owlery as soon as Draco had left. Or rather, been taken away.

He couldn't erase the look in Draco's eyes as he was led away. Those molten grays had been so full of hopelessness, of fear, of betrayal. Draco thought Harry had failed.

Harry sunk lower into the haystack where he had sat. He had failed. He had vowed to protect Draco, and he hadn't. Now, he would never see the blonde again.

The long suppressed memory of that day in the Forbidden Forest suddenly came back with startling clarity. Draco, on the ground of the forest, screaming in such pain that he passed out. His own inability to move. It seemed like so long ago, yet Harry could recall it quickly.

Once again, the feeling of helplessness swept over him. There was nothing he could do. He wasn't a hero; he was just a boy with a stick.

Harry sat up and crouched over his knees, resting his head in his hands. No.

He would not let this go.

Harry stood up quickly, not bothering to shake the hay from his clothing, and ran to Dumbledore's office. He banged on the door; the Headmaster had long changed the passwords, "Professor! Professor! Let me in!"

The door opened a crack, and Dumbledore's half-moon glasses twinkled in the candlelight, "Yes, Mr. Potter?"

"Professor, I need Malfoy's address!" Harry yelled frantically, desperately restraining himself not to knock down the door, "Please!"

"I am not allowed to divulge that information, young man," Dumbledore opened the door further, stepping partially into the hallway, "However, I have long needed a trip to the lavatory. In my old age, I am getting quite careless and I seem to have left the door open to my office." He walked down the hall, humming to himself as Harry stared at his back. Sometimes the professor was beyond comprehension.

He darted into the room quickly, knowing that he had until Dumbledore returned to get the information. If he didn't have it within that time, the Headmaster would have to punish him. Harry quickly poured over everything on the massive desk and found nothing. He sighed and looked around the room. A large box sat on the floor of the room, tucked into a corner. Harry leapt over to it, ripping the lid off and plunging into the papers inside. Each paper was contact information for every student in the school at the time.

Harry quickly pored over the papers, and came across Mafloy's. He scanned the page and memorized the name, just as Dumbledore walked back into the room. "Harry Potter," he gasped, "I would have thought better of you than to take advantage of an old man's senility!"

The Gryffindor stood, and bolted out the door, yelling behind him, "I won't fail this time!"

He was sure Dumbledore heard him, and he ran to the common room, grabbing his Cloak and his broom. Then, without disturbing anyone in the room sleeping, he noiselessly opened a window and jumped into the night.

......

The night stretched on, seemingly endless in its turns and pain. The room held no lights- it was meant only to sleep in. He sat on the bed, staring at nothing in particular, searching out the window for any sign of life. He didn't know quite what he was looking for, but he didn't find it. He dropped his gaze and cursed Potter for the hundredth time that night.

He shouldn't be sad, he shouldn't be depressed. Those were saved for the romantics, who couldn't live without human interaction. He had lived for so long without emotion that he didn't need it. Now, when Potter unlocked it, it seemed to overwhelm him and leave him for dead.

He missed Potter. He missed the warmth, the comfort, and the security of just being near him. Potter had given him something no other person had given him- a refuge, a sanctuary. He would die before admitting it, but he yearned to be near the hero again, to feel that comfort.

Draco turned and lay on his stomach on the bed. Damn Potter for making him feel! For years the only thing he had felt was hatred, an emotion that left one as cold as the curse now made him. Hatred had been the only emotion he had needed, and now he wished his life were back to that simple way.

A gentle tapping on the window caught his ear. He turned to the lone glass and saw with a start that Potter floated outside on a broom. The boy was grinning like a maniac, and waving. Draco was at the window and opening it before his jaw had dropped.

A gust of wind blew Potter into the room, sending him spinning off his broom and into Draco. They crashed to the floor together, finding themselves once again tangled with one another. This time, however, Potter had landed on top of Draco and was squishing the air from the blonde's lungs. At the moment, Draco didn't care. He could look up and stare into Potter's brilliant green eyes and that was all that mattered. For a moment, Potter stared back. Then, he clambered off, turning a bright shade of red in the process.

"Hallo Malfoy," he said by way of introduction.

"Hallo Potter," Draco shot back, "What are you doing here?"

"Came to get you of course," Potter spoke as if it was the simplest concept in the world, "Let's go."

Unwillingly, Draco felt color drain from his face, "Father will kill you. He has-"

Potter rolled his eyes, "He has giant deadly spiders, yes I know. He can only kill me if he catches me-"

"That can be arranged."

Draco spun to see his father standing in the doorway. He whirled back to look at Potter, whose face had gone ashen, "I used an Invisibility Cloak... There's no way you could have seen-"

"I don't need to see when someone enters my grounds you stupid Gryffindor child," Father spat, "There are wards all over the grounds to let me know when someone leaves or enters." Potter paled more, if at all possible, and took a step towards the window. Father waved his wand and the window shut, "Now, Mr. Potter, you do realize you are trespassing, and that I am welcome to do as I like with you- in respect to the traditional landowning laws."

Draco could tell that the gravity of what Potter had done was sinking in. With a strike of fear, he knew what his father would do. Torture and then hand over the boy to the Dark Lord like a good Death Eater. "No..." the word was whispered; his father did not hear it, nor did Potter.

Father, all the cool gentleman, calmly lifted his wand at Potter. He opened his mouth, but Draco did not hear the curse. It could have been the Killing curse, or the Cruciatus curse. It didn't matter. All that mattered was keeping those green eyes lit.

Before he completely realized what he had done, Draco had launched himself in front of Harry, knocking the other over and using his own body as a shield for whatever Father threw at them.

"Crucio!"

He may have been prepared to feel pain, but this was unlike any pain he had ever felt before. Tearing, burning, constricting. He couldn't breathe, it hurt so badly. Stars exploded before his eyes, and he fought to keep his mouth shut- not to scream. He wouldn't scream. The tearing arched through his chest and raced down his arms, threatening to burn them. He writhed, and vaguely felt arms around him, trying to stop his shaking. His hands found another's and he gripped hard, trying to survive the pain. If only he could die, to make it stop. The icy fire ripped through him, plunging him into burning torture before washing his nerves in frozen shards. Unwillingly, a scream split from his lips.

A voice rose to join his, yelling desperately, "NO!" Arms clutched at him as the blinding pain mercifully stopped and he dropped to the ground. For the longest moment, all that could be heard in the room was his pained gasps for breath and Potter's choked panting. The boy was trying to rise, to sit up and put Draco under his protection. Draco let him, too exhausted to move, to even think as Potter drew him into his arms.

Lucius seemed more than shocked as he regarded the two boys. His son- his flesh and blood- **_friends_** with Potter? "Is this..." usually eloquent, Lucius was struck speechless by the occurrences, "I did not raise you to associate with such rabble, Draco."

"He can associate with whoever he wants, you bastard!" Potter's grip on his arms was painfully tight, "You'd curse your own **_son_** with an Unforgivable!?" Potter took a shuddering breath, "You should have stayed in Azkaban!"

"I do not need to be lectured by you in my own castle," Lucius growled, "Which, may I remind you, you willingly stepped into." Potter noticed a flash of red outside the window. His eyes flicked towards it without moving his head in case Lucius hadn't noticed it yet. A soft shrilling reached his ears, and he knew instantly what hovered outside the window. "You will do well to remove your grubby hands from my heir," Lucius continued, "You may transfer your tendencies onto him."

Potter let out a low guttural sound in disgust but instead of retorting leaned to Draco's ear, "Draco, do you trust me?"

A spark flew through him at the sound of his name, and he forced his eyes open to stare into Potter's worried green. Faint pricks from the torture still rang in his blood, making him wonder why he had jumped in the way in the first place. With a feeling that he was too far-gone, he nodded slowly, "Yes..."

"You'll be okay," Potter whispered as he turned his attention back to Lucius. Sliding one hand slowly into his pocket to get his wand, he shot, "For your information, I washed my hands before I left school." He jerked the wand from his pocket and whipped it towards the window, "_Wingardium leviosa_!"

Draco felt himself being hurtled through the air. His back slammed against the window to his room with enough force to shatter it, spitting glass everywhere and sending him flying into the night. From out of nowhere, a great red bird swooped down and released a great yell. Draco landed hard on a feathered back, and he sat up quickly to see what had become of Potter. The boy was standing on the windowsill, dodging curses as he leaped into the night. The bird caught him in its talons, and shrilled loudly again as it quickly put the mansion behind them.

......

"Well done, Harry, well done," Dumbledore grinned cheerfully as a ragged Harry Potter led an equally distressed, and somewhat bloody, Draco Malfoy back into his office at three in the morning. "Not a doubt in my mind you could do it."

"That's why you sent Fawkes," Harry smiled back knowingly.

"The bird freed itself," Dumbledore maintained as he sat in his desk. He gestured that the other two should sit also, and noticed that Harry moved his chair closer to the Malfoy boy in the process. Not surprising, but interesting to say the least. "Now, I have something direly important to tell you both." Harry's eyebrows shot up, but Draco was too tired to do anything more than stare. "Harry, I fear this will effect you the most, as it deals with your father," the Headmaster began, not sure how to put the story lightly, "As you know, James and Tom Riddle were classmates. Opposite houses, just as you, yet they had a completely different relationship." At this, he turned to Harry, "Young Potter, have you ever wondered why your father was marked by Voldemort?" Draco flinched visibly at the name, but Dumbledore remained intent on Harry.

"Dad refused to become a Death Eater..." Harry's eyes were full of questions, "Right?"

"Partly," the wizard nodded, "Your father and Tom Riddle had a peculiar relationship. You see, Riddle loved your father."

Harry blanched, "Friends. You mean they were friends?"

The Headmaster of Hogwarts shook his head, "No, Harry, they were more than friends." He waited for this information to sink in, knowing it would shock the poor boy. Indeed, Harry looked a sickly white in the face. Draco stared at the other boy in concern- a look Dumbledore noticed with relief. There was something there, something in Draco's eyes that had been in Riddle's. There was hope.

"However, Riddle was obsessed with power. In his search for more, he placed a curse on himself, a curse I'm sure young Malfoy is familiar with." Draco sat up a bit straighter. "Yes, the very same curse you suffer from. However, when James found out, he would not sit still. When it came down to it, James convinced Riddle to partake in the cure. James refused to let Riddle fall into darkness, and he was more than willing to participate. However, the cure failed, and Harry is living proof of that." Two faces stared at him quizzically, and Dumbledore smiled, "The curse can only be removed by two people who will love and protect each other."

At this, Draco looked ill along with Harry. "L-Love?" he choked out, glancing at the Boy Who Lived.

Cheerfully ignoring the look of horror on both their faces, Dumbldore rose from his chair and started pacing the office, "Professor Snape has the potion ready, and all that needs to be determined is whether you two are ready." He gave them both a pointed look. "The cure is very complicated, and will require all of your attention. James did not have the frame of mind to complete it, and we lost Riddle. I do not wish for you both to fall into a repeated history."

......

They had been given chocolate and been ushered from the office quickly after the small talk, and now Harry sat with Draco in the Infirmary. The whitewashed room was really the only place they could talk privately. There was one thing that had been bugging Harry for the past few hours, and he finally had a chance to ask about it now as he bandaged Draco's cuts from window glass, "Draco, back at your house... why did you cover me?"

The Slytherin turned a brilliant shade of red and shrugged his slender shoulders. He looked so sheepish, as if he had been caught putting a Valentine in his crush's mailbox. With his white-blonde hair falling gently over his eyes, framing his now scarlet cheeks, the molten gray of his eyes shone from the shadows in his face to make him look almost like an angel. Cocking his head, he cast a look at Draco that shook the other. "I..." Harry started, rather surprised at himself, "I could love you."

Draco's cheeks darkened further as he stared in disbelief at the other. "W-What?" he sputtered, not quite sure he had heard correctly.

"If you let me," Harry continued, twisting his hands nervously.

"Why? You hate me!" Draco burst out, willing it to be true yet at the same time hoping Harry wasn't joking.

The green orbs widened, "I don't **_hate_** you! I don't hate **_anyone_**!" He sounded hurt, as if he had been insulted, "I don't even hate Voldemort..." Harry stared at Draco, "You deserve to be loved. I think... you need to be loved." He moved closer, forcing Draco onto his back as he arched over him to stare into stone gray eyes.

"I don't need anything..." Draco found the position very uncomfortable, and found he could not reduce the color in his cheeks, "I don't... I don't deserve anything from the Boy Who Lived."

Harry wasn't about to let that train of thought continue. He knew he didn't owe Draco anything. His master had killed his parents, his best friend. His father had killed his godfather, the only living tie he had left to his parents. His father had tried to kill him. He didn't need to give anything to Draco. And yet...

"Everyone deserves to be loved," Harry maintained firmly, "Just as nobody deserves to feel pain." Draco stared up at the Gryffindor, and saw nothing but honesty in his eyes. Those green eyes that sparkled playfully at times, burned fiercely at others, and cried at still others. He could see himself reflected in them, they were so close. Draco reached up and removed the barrier of glass that separated those eyes from him, and tossed Harry's glasses aside. The boy smiled, so close that it didn't matter whether he wore glasses or not, "Do you trust me?"

Pinned as he was, Draco could not have moved if he wanted to. He was forced to give a reply. He remembered at his father's castle, where he had been delirious with pain and rested in Harry's arms. He had been asked the same thing, but then he hadn't had much of a choice. It was either go with Harry or face his father's punishment. Yet here, he had a choice. He could be rid of the curse, and he wouldn't be alone anymore. He could find the strength to stand up to his father with Harry.

On the other hand, he could give in to the curse and become as powerful as the Dark Lord, with no emotions to worry about.

Harry stared at him, waiting for his answer patiently. Draco smiled timidly, a small smile that graced his features like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. To Harry, it was exactly that. A ray of sunshine in the dark Infirmary. He grinned in pleasure and leaned forward, touching his lips to Draco's gently. The white-blonde was taken by surprise, and he closed his eyes as Harry pressed him into the bed.

The touch of his lips brought warmth to Draco. The Slytherin found himself warm enough to shiver, and he did. He stopped when Harry latched his arms around him, however, pressing him close. The exhaustion from lack of sleep and his torture faded when Harry ran his tongue along Draco's lips, shocking the blonde into gasping.

Harry pulled back suddenly, grinning widely, "Draco, have you **_ever_** been kissed before?"

Turning a delicious shade of crimson, Draco sputtered, "N-No..." Harry laughed uproariously, his chest rocking against Draco's. Upon settling down, Harry dropped onto the pillow beside Draco's head, facing him, close enough that their breath mingled comfortably. As he stared into the molten gray of Draco's eyes, Harry found himself oddly regretful. The gray was flecked with tiny sparks of gold, like a treasure hidden amongst stone.

As Draco gazed unflinchingly back, Harry took a breath, "I can't believe I've never looked at you before."

"You've looked at me plenty of times," Draco replied softly, not adding that those times had been full of malice and hate.

Harry shook his head like a stubborn child, "Not like this. Before, I saw you as a heartless bastard, basically. I never dreamed you were just a normal boy."

"Thanks for the imagery, Potter," Draco smirked, "But for your information, I am still a heartless bastard." The silver-blonde started as a hand reached out and touched his skin, right over where his physical heart puttered quickly.

The brunette rested his hand there, feeling Draco's heart beat, "I feel something. You have a heart."

With a groan, Draco rolled onto his back, "Just because I can see right and wrong now doesn't mean I have a heart. It just means I don't want to die."

Propping himself up on an elbow, Harry leaned over him, "Then I'll be your heart for now."

Draco stared at him, unsure what to say. Finally, he opened his mouth, "I'm sorry."

Wondering, Harry cocked an eyebrow, "For what?"

Shifting uncomfortably, Draco directed his eyes to the privacy curtains surrounding the bed, "At the Manor... I screamed. I know you don't like hearing people scream, I tried to stop but I couldn't help it..."

Harry felt the color rush from his face as he remembered those horrible moments, lying on his back unable to do anything except cry. Seeing Draco's face in such agony, knowing he couldn't stop it, feeling the Slytherin's body shake on him... it was something he never wanted to relive, made worse by the earsplitting wail the boy had loosed. With a shudder, Harry closed his eyes, "Don't apologize. You... You saved me." What shocked Harry most was that, even in the midst of such horrible torture, Draco was thinking of him. "You tried to stop screaming because of me?"

Again, color flooded into Draco's cheeks and he became intensely interested in a spot on the ceiling.

"I'm sorry...for being such a prat all these years..." he continued staring at Draco, though the other refused to meet his gaze, "I didn't know there was such an angel under the devil."

Wincing at the analogy, Draco finally looked at him, "Very creative, Potter, did you come up with it yourself?" He sighed, "I'm not sure if I like this... It's wrong. Not three weeks ago we absolutely hated each other, and now some Muggle-loving old man wants us to love each other? It's not going to happen, Potter."

"It's the only way to lift the curse," Harry's voice bordered dangerously on breaking, "I want to protect you."

"That's all well and good, Mr. Hero, but some people don't want to be protected," Draco shot back, keeping his voice carefully neutral.

"You keep saying that... Are you one of those people?" Harry fired suddenly, glaring fiercely at the white-blonde before him. The Gryffindor watched as Draco chewed on his lip nervously. It was a habit of his, Harry had noticed, whenever he was anxious or cornered.

As if noticing Harry staring, Draco stopped, "I don't need-"

"Protection," Harry scowled. He swung himself out of the bed with startling agility. Draco sat up also, shivering in the new cold. "Have it your way," Harry spat as he stormed out of the Infirmary.


	10. Chapter Nine

Five corridors later, Harry managed to slow his walk. He stopped and faced an empty wall, his back to another empty wall. He tried to still his flow of thoughts, but found he had no reason at all for storming out of the Infirm like that.

How Draco had managed to hurt him was beyond Harry's comprehension. And yet, Harry felt he had been most disturbed by the other's indifference. Harry had seen Draco care, and Draco couldn't deny it now that he had acted. Not anyone would block an Unforgivable with their own body. Not anyone would give his trust by allowing someone to sleep by him.

Draco needed the protection, why didn't he just accept it!? Harry groaned in frustration. He knew the exact reasons. Draco was proud. He was scared, and he was just as stubborn as Harry.

He slumped against the wall, sliding down and drawing his knees to his chest. He wasn't sure if he liked the cure either. He had never been involved in something this taxing before. He wanted, almost needed, to protect Draco. Surely that wasn't love... the kind of love Dumbldedore talked about. It was just his Gryffindor blood, right?

Then why did he feel Draco's absence like an hole beside him, aching to be filled? Harry sighed. He had grown close enough to Draco to miss him when he wasn't around. Except, this wasn't ordinary. It wasn't like when Ron wasn't around. When Ron wasn't around, there was a warm kind of remembrance, a recollection of old times and past mischief. When Draco wasn't near, it almost hurt.

Harry rested his head back against the wall, closing his eyes tiredly. He couldn't think about it tonight, it was too late. Or too early... depending on how one looked at it... It was officially four in the morning, and Harry still had not gotten any sleep. It was starting to take its toll on him.

As he sat there, wondering desperately about his place in the universe, a thrill of cold struck at him, nearly taking his breath away. He jerked into a sitting position, his thick glasses sliding down on his nose. Another cold wind tugged at his chest, sending shivers down his spine. There was something ominous about this, something wasn't right.

He glanced down the hallway, left and right- nothing was there. Yet, that feeling wouldn't leave.

He heard the crash of glass echo down the corridor, and he leapt to his feet. Instantly, he knew what the cold meant. Dementors had breached the castle. It was the only explanation, and as soon as he knew, he figured out exactly where they were.

_**Draco.**_

Anxiety lending wings to his feet, he bolted back to the Infirmary about fifty yards away. He saw the door, was through the door, and froze at the site before him. The window was broken open, shards of glass glittering on the floor in the blood red moonlight. A figure was on the floor, as still as death, his silver-blonde hair sparkling amidst the glass. Above him hovered five dementors, eager for their next victim. Draco wasn't moving...

Harry pushed thoughts of panicking from his mind. He could panic later, this was not the time. Whipping his wand from his pocket, he pointed it at the monstrous beasts. "**_Expecto patronum_**!" he bellowed, thinking of the happiest thing he could at the moment- Draco being free of the curse. Draco's hot touch, not chilled by a curse; his cheeks flushed with warmth rather than anger.

This time, it worked. The brilliantly familiar white stag burst from Harry's wand tip, making for the hovering creatures. With shrieks of disappointment, the dementors hurtled out the window, disappearing into the darkness of the long morning. Elated he could still work the Patronus charm, Harry allowed himself a moment of pleasure before remembering what had brought him back to the Infirmary in the first place.

"Draco!" Harry stumbled to his knees, ignoring the glass on the ground as it cut into his skin. He lifted the boy into his arms, leaning down to hear for breath. Faint, dangerously faint. Harry suppressed the tremble that shook his body. He still couldn't panic. He would do no good at all if he panicked. But just then, Draco drew a raspy breath, followed closely by a moan of pain. "Oh god," Harry breathed, blood rushing from his face, "I can't do this..." He put a hand to Draco's forehead, brushing back the sweat-dampened hair there, "Draco, please... Wake up. The dementors are gone, I'm here. I'll protect you..." Draco's face was a horrid shade of white, and his body felt heavy in Harry's arms. A small trickle of blood had loosed itself down the side of his head from a shard of glass, and his heartbeat was perilously slow. The thin thread of Harry's voice was all that kept Draco with the living. "Draco," Harry groaned, blinking back tears, "Come on, wake up!" He grit his teeth and bent over the unconscious boy, doing his best to will some life into the other.

The door to the Infirmary swung open hard, and a short shriek burst the silence. Madame Pomfrey quickly scuttled to Harry's side and swished out her wand. "Come, come, let go, boy," she ordered Harry, who had unconsciously tightened his grip on Draco. He slowly relinquished his charge, watching anxiously as the nurse floated Draco onto a clean bed. She quickly cleaned his cuts, tuttering about how the two boys were magnets for trouble. After easing a potion through the unconscious boy's lips, she turned from the bed. "Mr. Potter, come here," she waved to him after a few minutes. He found he hadn't the strength to stand; he was too worried about Draco. Now he jerked to his feet and managed to make it to Draco's bedside. "You watch over him while I report this to the Headmaster," she turned quickly and hurried out of the room.

Harry sat down on the bed and busied himself with soothing Draco's silver locks away from his eyes. The hair gently curled around his ears and eyes, catching and reflecting the moonlight coming in the recently fixed windows. It was then that Harry felt the incredible weight of the last few minutes settle on him. He had nearly lost Draco again, and he had just barely made it in time. If Madame Pomfrey hadn't been there, Draco would have died. If anything, the incident strengthened Harry's resolve. They **_had_** to lift the curse. There was no gray in this, it was either lift the curse or lose Draco.

Sometime during the morning, Harry managed to fall asleep. He was awakened by Draco stirring, and he opened his eyes to broad daylight pouring into the Infirmary. Wincing at the light, he slid his glasses onto his nose from where they had fallen and he sat up. Draco blinked his eyes a few times, scrunching his face in an attempt to remember what had happened. Gray eyes turned slowly to meet green, and the Slytherin let out a small sigh of relief.

"How are you feeling?" Harry leaned forward so Draco would not have to yell his answer.

"I've been worse," came the raspy answer. The bed shook as Draco shivered hard, effects of the curse and the dementors. The boy closed his eyes and cleared his throat, "What happened? How did...?"

"I felt the dementors, and I made a Patronus," Harry said, swallowing hard, "You were already out when I got here."

"I'm glad you got here in time," Draco said softly, "I didn't want to die with you mad at me... you stupid Gryffindor prat... You would've blamed yourself..." He opened his eyes to look at Harry, "Have you gotten any sleep at all?"

With a grin, Harry shot back, "I got sleep. A few hours, I guess." He paused, staring at the blonde, "I can't believe you did it again."

Instantly suspicious, Draco narrowed his eyes, "Did what?"

Harry leaned close, resting his chin on the mattress beside Draco's head, "You thought about me even though you were in pain."

"You would've blamed yourself..." Draco repeated, "When the real blame is elsewhere."

Harry conceded by nodding. The gold in Draco's eyes glittered even more brightly in the sunlight, and some red had returned to Draco's cheeks. Light strands of silver fell against the pillow, creating a shimmering pool against the fabric as Draco stared back at him. "Are you ready to make the cure work?" Harry asked, "Are you ready to try 'us' out?"

Draco looked as if he were considering the question. After a moment's pause, he answered, "I think so."

......

Having finally cornered Ron between classes, Harry stared him down with his best I'm-not-angry-but-you-keep-avoiding-me glares. Upon withering, Ron agreed to listen to everything Harry had to say. In a short five minutes, Harry had spilled everything about Draco's predicament, and had brought the story to the cure. "The cure is complicated..." Harry started, but Ron cut him off.

"Wait, Malfoy has this curse... but who put it on him?"

"His father," Harry said, "But that's not important. What's important is the cure." Ron had dropped several shades of color in his cheeks, but Harry chose to ignore it. "It can only be taken off by someone who is bound to protect him. I have to take that responsibility."

"What does this include?" Ron asked, his voice tinged with suspicion, "Do you have to follow him everywhere and be his bodyguard?"

"No, no, no," Harry sighed, "Ron, he just needs someone to love him. He hasn't known love at all. He has no friends, and those two lumps that follow him around don't count seeing as they can't count at all with mittens on."

"And you're sure you can do that?" Ron asked quietly, "You can be everything he's missed and more?"

With a stubborn face, Harry jutted his lower jaw out, "I can try." And then he looked at his best friend and said shakily, "I think... I think I might be falling for him."

Ron shook his head in mock exasperation and placed his hands on Harry's shoulders, "You're in this deep, aren't you?" He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, "I support you. Whatever you decide to do, I'm right behind you, mate, but if he hurts you he's as good as dead." He cast a sideways glance at Harry as they walked to return to their class, "I don't have to like him, do I?"

With a laugh, Harry replied no and gave the redhead a friendly shove into the wall.

......

The shutters had been sealed, with no light penetrating the cracks in the wood. Small candles were lit surrounding the bed in a circular pattern, ready for the ritual. Harry sat cross-legged on the bed facing Draco, who was positioned the same. The blonde looked nervous, and Harry could feel small butterflies himself but he refused to show it. He had to be strong, especially now. Draco was counting on him.

Outside the circle of sweet-smelling candles, Dumbledore, Madame Pomfrey, and Snape stood ready. The Headmaster looked directly at Harry, "Young Potter, this is very important. If this fails, I do not know what will happen." This admission startled Harry a bit, but he did not allow it to increase his worry. He was sure the cure would succeed. He was strong enough, and he could carry Draco if need be. "The only way to defeat darkness is with light. Hatred with love, neglect with protection." At this, Draco visibly flinched, perhaps remembering his father. The Headmaster had a warning before they started, and he looked at Harry, "You must not look away, do you understand? Keep eye contact at all times." Harry nodded, somewhat startled by the Headmaster's order, "Draco is the only one in the room for you. You **_must_** understand that." Again, Harry nodded. He didn't really need to be told, he would not have broken eye contact anyway. "I will recite the rites," Dumbledore spoke again, nodding to Snape.

The Potions professor moved forward, breaking through the circle of candles to approach the bed, "Give me your left hand." Curious, Harry held up his left as Draco held his up. Snape took both their hands and lay Harry's over Draco's, Harry holding the blonde's wrist. Then, with a wide-eyed Harry watching, the man took a piece of rope and tied the two wrists together tightly.

Snape then handed them each a glass. A yellowish potion swirled at the bottom of each, and Harry closed his eyes and scrunched up his nose to drink it. Draco tipped his glass back quickly, and they both handed the glasses back to Snape. Wordlessly, the professor stepped back out of the circle.

Dumbledore spoke, his deep voice resonating in the privacy curtains, "Look into his eyes." Harry caught his breath as he turned his gaze on Draco. In the dim candlelight, the boy was nearly glowing. His white-blonde hair framed his face in an ethereal halo, contrasted only by stone gray eyes. Harry had been told to remove his glasses, but he could see Draco in perfect clarity while the background blurred into a mix of colors. As if time had stilled, they sat and stared at each other, wrists locked together. "Harry Potter," both boys jumped as Dumbledore spoke again, "Do you mean to protect the one before you?"

"Yes. I will protect him," Harry intoned, as was ritual.

"Draco Malfoy," Dumbledore continued, "Do you renounce the evil placed upon you, unwillingly and in duress?"

"I renounce it," Draco's voice lifted through the air lazily, as if he wasn't putting his future on the line, as if this was just another class where he could retake the test if it failed. Yet Harry could feel the chill of his hand and know that Draco was nervous.

"Harry, will you help defeat it?"

"I will."

"Draco, will you fight it?"

"I will."

Harry repressed the urge to roll his eyes. He had no respect for ceremonies, and this was no exception. It sounded eerily like a Muggle marriage, a bond meant to last for eternity and a day. With this thought, he barely had time to breathe before Dumbledore uttered the word for the cure, "**_Inseperos_**."

Instantly, Draco's hand tightened on his own and Harry gasped at the chill. Heeding Dumbledore's warning, Harry maintained eye contact, willing Draco to look at him. They were not allowed to speak now; it was a pure battle of will that Draco was clearly losing. His grip was painfully tight, and Harry continued to stare at him, urging him silently to fight it.

Draco was in pain, that much was obvious. He tried to block out the sounds of the three teachers shifting nervously near them, and focus solely on Draco. If only he could take some of the boy's pain, to help him ride it through.

The instant he thought it, a wave of aching cold hit his chest, drawing a gasp from his lungs. His fingers felt as if they were going to freeze, the cold sweat that covered his body did not make matters any better. If this kept up, both he and Draco would freeze to death. Harry felt sure that if he looked down, he would see his breath form clouds in the air.

Just as Harry felt he could not take anymore cold, it stopped as suddenly as it had come, leaving both boys gasping in the sudden warmth of the Infirmary. The candlelight seemed brighter, multiple rays shedding more light and warmth around the bed. A collective sigh escaped all three teachers as Draco fell back against the bed to sleep, followed closely by Harry.

......

When Harry became aware of the world again, he found he was lying on top of something alternately soft and hard. He shifted, and drew a moan from whatever he lay on. Harry shot up, trying not to move any more than necessary. Draco was still asleep, his breathing even and his cheeks flushed. Gingerly, Harry reached forward and touched the red cheeks. A smile crept across his face as he realized they were warm. So were Draco's hands. So was his forehead, his neck, his arms. They had done it. Draco wasn't cursed anymore.

Night had fallen, and all the candles were still lit around the bed, casting that hauntingly beautiful scene across Harry's eyes. Draco slept soundly, silver hair splayed across the pillow carelessly. Harry found himself missing the stone gray of his eyes, and it was all he could do to stop himself from waking the boy.

It was in vain, however, as Draco came almost awake of his own power. His eyes opened slowly with heavy lids, and he looked for Harry. When his sleep-laden eyes rested on the Gryffindor's face, a tiny smile lifted his lips. "Thank you..." the words were whispered, but Harry heard them as clear as a bell in the small space behind the Infirmary curtains. Then, to Harry's great shock and elation, Draco reached up to grasp the collar of his shirt, and jerked him down. Soft lips pressed against his as Draco lazily worked his mouth under Harry's. Harry pulled back for breath and looked at Draco. The boy still had sleep in his eyes, but he was smiling radiantly- albeit slightly.

"I should be thanking you..." Harry whispered to the semi-unconscious boy as he stretched himself next to the Slytherin. Draco murmured something incoherent in reply and fell back asleep, his breathing easy. Harry looked out the window of the Infirmary, into the darkness of the night. If he could beat one trial that stank of Voldemort, maybe the wizard himself wasn't so dangerous. Harry's victory that afternoon had strengthened his courage, and he felt like he could take the whole world. The darkness wasn't so frightening, he would defend Draco from it and they would both be happy.


End file.
